


Two of a Kind

by moonsungiee



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bullying Mentions, CHANSUNG RISE, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Insomnia, Kissing, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mentioned side character seungmin its not indicated but its him, Muteness, Platonic Relationships, Podcast, Side ships don't really matter, Smoking, Soft Bang Chan, Soft Han Jisung | Han, Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29381502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsungiee/pseuds/moonsungiee
Summary: in which insomniac jisung cannot sleep until its 6:15 am; but manages to pass time listening to a late-night podcast. Only catch, this podcast is hosted by none other than his next-door neighbour and fellow nocturnal, Chan.--------or that one fic that's sorta based on my life... dedicated to minmin <3 and all the chansungers out there ^^
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han, Bang Chan/Lee Felix, Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Seo Changbin, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin
Comments: 46
Kudos: 45
Collections: Drabbles Challenge for Chaotic Writers





	1. Sleep

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

What feels like an infinity lasts a quarter-second, then flees to air and is gone. The world fades back in. The echoes of the light fade, burning swiftly through a Polaroid-flush of colour that dims to red and then to black. Jisung senses the pulsing blood in his ears, the thudding heart in his chest, the humming of adrenaline in his bloodstream. Like a steel cable, every muscle in his neck is tautly clenched. 

When Jisung was a boy, he captained a fleet of starships at night. A ragtag bunch of toys created the fictional armada: spitfire models, a sci-fi sword, a Batmobile, obscure figures from tabletop games, reproductions of Thunderbirds and Star Wars vessels using Micro Machines, and Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica. He wasn't fussy.

A composite narrative derived from an amalgam of books he read and films he watched, he managed to create a whole storyline around them. Lying in bed at night, he would fly them around his head, with his breath making the noise of their engines.

This was the only thing that sometimes, often, helped the boy get to sleep, before vodka, before pills, before anything that worked. 

Perhaps the size of the world he had built in his churning head, and its details, calmed him down and forced the noise out, just occasionally. Jisung believed that he inadvertently stumbled upon a self-hypnosis approximation. It takes rhythmic breathing to make the engine noise, which relaxes his heart rate and even tricks his brain into slowing down.

There were nights Jisung fell asleep only after being awake for longer than he could recall. It was the kind of sleep deprivation that was painful. He would sleep for not too long and then wake up as if for the first time he was breathing, as if his body was deprived of oxygen. He had originally believed that you could not die of insomnia, and that led him to rule out the possibility of trying medication. As it turns out, you can. 

He must have woken up 'n' number of times in the ten hours he was in bed. Not for that long, but enough to divide the sleep into un-refreshing pieces. There was a new nightmare for each disruption.

Unlike most people, Jisung doesn't need caffeine to stay awake at night. He turns to look at the digital clock, neon signs that read 5:30 am, He’s supposed to be up in about three hours.

So he Google searches—

**‘how to fall asleep’**

—and tries the ideas suggested by this forum for health. According to the articles, he was spending more time trying to fall asleep rather than sleeping. Jisung sits up and attempts the military method; calming the muscles of his face followed by breathing exercises, repeatedly, but to no avail, the words "don't think" over and over again. He appears to be as fidgety as ever.

Next: More breathing exercises? The 4-7-8 breathing method.

He placed the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, behind his two front teeth. Letting his lips part slightly and make a whooshing sound as he exhales through his mouth. His breath seemed to stutter in his lungs before he let it go, feeling the tension drain from his body… “Nope, this isn’t going to work”

“Huh? ASMR? Oh no, is this my last resort? How are these meant to be called 'comforting sounds'? Seriously?”

There is a tenseness to his muscles that makes him more like a mannequin on the soft mattress than a child of flesh and bone. Jisung wants so much to melt onto the soft foam, wrapped in eider-down, and drift into the world of dreams. Yet his brain was a violent whirl of stupidity, trying to organize the chaos in his life. It sought to discover a way to control the capriciousness of people, to acquiesce and please them so that their encounters were easier, less draining. Of course, the task was pointless, life is far too random for a human brain to take the billions of factors that come together to form just one day for one person. 

Jisung knew it was silly, but his mind still had its way with things. Particularly when the sun was setting and the wind was quieting.

_**What can he do?** _

He sits on the edge of his mattress, trying to steady his breathing, and hangs his head low between his knees, burying his hair in his hands. His eyes sting with tears.

**_Please, let me sleep._ **

Because the only break he gets from the chaos of the world is sleep, and it seems far too unfair to get even that taken away from him. Extremely cruel.

He eventually allowed himself to fall on top of his bed with a slightly frustrated pant, and closed his eyes.

He swipes frantically with trembling fingers at his phone screen, as if doing so would show him an app that might give him a reprieve. And maybe it does, because his haphazard swiping somehow causes him to press through a few late-night podcasts and click on one labelled ‘Your Daily Insomniac’.

Jisung scoffs, raising an eyebrow. He expects to hear only static from the speakers of his phone, because that's almost it? Again, what time is it...Surely nobody is going to do a Livestream right now?

But much to his surprise, there’s... a voice. A talking voice.

“To survive, we tell ourselves stories. But often, even when change is both possible and desirable, our stories become set, frozen, unchanging, particularly the tales we tell ourselves about ourselves.”

Startled, Jisung blinks, frown deepening as he strains his ears to listen:

“...and this is CB97, Christopher to my mother, and Chris to most of my friends, staying up with you all night until the sun rises...”

Jisung's heart constricts for reasons unknown to him, and his stomach swoops with a sensation he does not have a name for. Is it possible to feel comforted by a voice alone? 

Some voices, he muses, are only meant to be heard, as though the world agreed at birth to magically give special vocal charisma rights to those individuals.

Here is one of those—low and modulated and chocolate-smooth. Goosebumps ghost over Jisung’s arms, and he sits up a bit straighter, attention focused on the host. 

“...the perfect playlist for nocturnals like me,” the radio host – CB97 – drawls, sending shivers rippling down Jisung’s spine, yet calming his pulse at the same time.

"And if you're having trouble falling asleep, fellow night owls, I've just got a song for you: Sleep by Joseph & Maia."

It's like CB97, whoever he is, knows just how Jisung feels and plays exactly the lullaby he wants.

Jisung scoots back up to lean his head against his pillow as the muscles along his neck and shoulder lose tension. With another yawn, his eyelids begin to weigh heavy.

  
  


The blonde boy sets the volume of the stream just below the level of the bird song around him and the phone gently beside him on haphazardly placed giant plushie. There is little or no traffic noise for it to deal with at this time of day, and no roadwork yet either. There is something about the slight crackle to the music that enhances it for Jisung, it is the accompaniment to his ride to dreamland.

When his voice comes back on, Jisung starts snoring.

A routine. 4 a.m. to 6 a.m. He waited every night for the rest of the week. One where Jisung required the voice of CB97 to fall asleep every night. For reasons unknown to him the man's gentle baritone acts like a spell on his overly restless mind. 

On his own, he still can't doze off, but although he had been a man struggling to breathe underwater before, now it feels like an oxygen tank has been given to him to help him cope. 

He supposes it must not be very healthy, because what if the podcast stream gets discontinued one day? It's not like he's got an alternative, though, so Jisung chooses to go with the flow. He has been tuning into CB97's radio show for the past two weeks, which he learned begins at 3 am and finishes at 6 am, just in time for work.

Jisung’s body clock readjusts itself so that he only starts to snooze in the wee hours of the morning, at least he gets to sleep. So while it’s not good, it’s not bad either.

The intro to Chris’s Your Daily Insomniac, started over the speakers of Jisung’s phone, the standard greeting washing like a wave over his anxious brain.

CB97 wasn't your usual podcaster; he didn't put out episodes of plain, weird noises that might be calming to some people (who weren't Jisung). What he did was mostly chat.

He told stories of his life—one that wasn't easy in a way that even Jisung could commiserate with—and gave fans tips, answered questions, and even bad-mouthed the people who were trying to give him anonymous hate mail.

Then one night, Jisung is faced with the same thing he was afraid of, "No lives available at this moment," as he taps open the Livestream app on his phone.

His ears start ringing. Pure Static, at this time of the moonlight, like a radio station. Static, like a TV that's broken.

His stomach lurches and coils, as he grabs his phone harder. Oh, no. No, this isn't possible. He lies rigid in the trappings of his duvet with each passing second, the static noise only rises in his ears as if taunting him. He did not move, did not turn, did not even flinch with the overwhelming sense of reality, and after years of sleep deprivation, his fight or flight reaction was still ingrained in his body.

That night, or the night after, and the night after that, Jisung didn't sleep a wink, because wherever CB97 has gone, it seems he's not back yet, and the boy is afraid he may never.

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

So it’s fast approaching 3 am the day after when Jisung—eyes bloodshot and cheeks hollow against the planes of his skull—drags himself down to the market downstairs.

“Well, well who do we have here?” he remarks. The boy’s face screamed youthfulness, if those shining eyes are anything go by, and much to Jisung’s delight, he stood a head shorter than him.

Then he dips his head, seeming to remember his manners, in a short bow. "Welcome."

Jisung doesn't have the energy to make chit chat, but he glances at the boy’s tag to note his name.

"Lee Felix—," he slurs, half leaning into the ramen and chip aisle. “—Do you have anything for insomnia??”

Felix hesitates and scratches the back of his ear, as he attempts to recall, "I don't believe this is a pharmacy..."

Jisung's shoulders droop, and his posture droops even more if possible. "It's all right." He could hear his stomach growl a little bit. Sighing at the sensation of hunger as he wrapped his arms around his body, trying to ignore it. The boy was starving and fucking cold.

“Here, just take it yeah?” the shiny platinum blonde boy replies, shoving banana milk, along with a ton of stuff in his hands when he heard someone came in, the bells chiming as it rattled with the glass pane. “It’s on me, I may not be able to solve your sleeplessness, but—,” he points to Jisung’s stomach with a finger and continues, “—I sure can help with that.”

The growling grew louder, Jisung could feel the rumbling in his stomach, and murmured a soft thank you in response. So the rumours were correct—staying up late makes you want to eat more.

**_Not like I wanted to stay up late…_ **

Just as he turns to go, though, Felix mentions, “Um...you know, you sound a lot like him.”

"Like who?" Jisung glances over his shoulder.

"My brother. Hyung doesn't sleep much too." Felix's eyes turns sparkly, taking on a faraway glaze. 

"O...kay." Jisung nods politely, uncertain whether to indulge in further talk with the kid regarding his big brother.

"He and I are in the same boat, then. I hope he's doing better than I am."

Felix's head shakes, sighing. "He isn’t keeping quite well right now, so you're definitely in a better place than him."

As the gears in his brain start to turn, Jisung wonders what if...

Haha... no way, no way.

  
  
  


**_What even were the chances of that?_ **

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

It was late, much later than Jisung wanted to be awake. But he was working, and he had finally reached the point where his hands, mind, and body had all been guided by autopilot, and there was no point. His hands brushed over the detailed sketches of what appeared to be support beams. On blue paper, his colleague had drawn dimensions, measurements, and different constructor lines. Jisung scrutinized the blueprints of what looked like a tiny two-storey house and red flags went off everywhere immediately.

As he noted every single thing that they had done wrong, the blonde boy's mind raced in havoc.

Excessive and/or incorrectly placed support beams, useless overhangs, complicated or irregular geometric designs, forms that can not be built with tessellated triangles, and several other engineering nightmares were only a shortlist of stuff they had drawn impractically.

Jisung huffed, “How much longer do I have to put up with this?”

**_I miss when I could just draw..._ **

Jisung was an artist before an engineer. But like every Asian household, his too preferred that he become someone else. It was unfair, but he didn’t have a say. He knew now that the choices of life shouldn’t be affected by others' interference. These are things which we carry with ourselves lifelong. If we choose something incorrect because others are saying it, we may suffer throughout.

**What does an Artist earn?**

**Are you going to live all your life just drawing?**

**How will you survive like that?**

Jisung missed whipping up beautifully sketched drawings of the cityscape, with the busy crowds and teens running about. He got every wrinkle, freckle, and hair right. He would shade with his pencils in various angles, but he would still get every colour right where it needed to be.

When the boy’s hand moves over the paper it's almost like his mind is directing it, odd perhaps, but that's the way it is. His hand moves to the right spot instinctively, creating a new picture, sometimes ones he has never seen before.

Now, 7 years have passed since then. Jisung became busy excelling as a civil engineer. **_Should I maybe try it again?_**

Sighing, the blonde boy took a piece of paper and a pencil. He then began to draw more, starting with a simple circle and guidelines for the facial features.

He felt as if the lines were looking... peculiar. **_Whom do I draw?_**

Jisung sighed and, started again, pulling out another piece of paper. He repeated this loop a couple more times, before it dawned on him. "I don't even know what CB97 looks like... but I keep drawing this,"

A soft silhouette of someone speaking over a mic connected to a computer device, wearing a bucket hat stared back into the black orbs of the blonde kid.

He didn't understand why.

Jisung stared in silence. Before he knew it, the boy had tears streaming down his face. He had completely gotten attached to someone all because of a podcast. Jisung did not know. He would soon have the floor covered in crumpled paper as he sobbed quietly, wondering how he would ever get sleep again.

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧


	2. Routines And You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Mentioned :  
> \- Sleep by Joseph & Maia  
> \- Insomniac’s lullaby by Paul Simon

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

The air is quiet, and the chill of the night seeps into Jisung's skin as he stands, waiting for a few awkward seconds, at an open window overlooking the night lights.

**_Let me sleep._ **

He scuffs the toe of his shoes against the floor, waiting.

He waits.

**_Let me sleep._ **

Nothing. 

Through the window comes the scent of cigar smoke, inviting old memories that once were sepia to restore their true colours. Jisung searches for the rectangular box in his pocket, the need for some form of attachment lunging at him. Would there be any other futile sign of the age of addiction over real moral choice than the cigarette?

Perhaps coffee and vehicles...For Jisung it was cigarettes. And now, a podcast that finished as soon as it began. Out of all the years of binge smoking, he inhaled the grey stench a little stronger, lungs destroyed, and black. As he took every drag, there was something sad in his eyes, as if he couldn't remember the last time he was very happy, taking walks and striving for fresh air and sunshine.

He did not remember.

The sound of footsteps echoed from a staircase nearby. Given the rapid tap of feet, someone coming up the passageway was either in a rush or petite in stature.

"Jisung? "The figure softly said. The blonde boy turned to notice Felix, a satchel across his body, fingers gripping the strap tightly, knuckles nearly white, staring at him questioningly.

Jisung huffed white hoops and crushed the cigarette under his shoe before speaking up, “Hey…”

“You-You scared me!” the shorter said with a frown. “Why are you down here smoking anyways? Still no sleep?” 

The other boy hummed. “As usual…..I’ll come with you”

A routine. 3 am-6 am. Jisung kept Felix company at the store, more so for himself than the latter. The platinum-haired boy was talking about something but Jisung’s thoughts were muddled still over an unavailable broadcast. He snaps a finger in front of the older, “Earth to Jisung? Hello,” waving a bit wildly in front of his face, Jisung clasps the other’s hands in his and whispers, “Sorry, I guess my mind got sidetracked…”

Felix eyes him and shuffles away from the counter towards a dusty blue tin box, lifts the lid and hands the blonde boy a cookie. “Take this, and tell me what’s bothering you…”

Jisung draws in a long breath before replying with a trademark deadpan expression, “You already know lix.” 

The younger snatches his phone and scrolls through before switching some music on, “What you need is music, it always helps me...sleep or not”

Jisung just smiles as he eats his cookie. Chocolate chips...My favourite; He snickers as The cookie in its sweet and golden crumb warmed him from within. 

Music fills the air without effort, both boys slowly enjoying the symphonies like the waves filling holes in beach sand; the sound rushing in and around them. The playlist moves on shuffle, and another song resounds in the store. Jisung’s eyes widen in disbelief, “This song…”

Felix kind of wants to laugh, tiny fingers turn his phone around for Jisung to see, “Insomniac’s lullaby by Paul Simon, It’s nice isn’t it?”

The taller watched Felix in confusion, “I...I know, I like this song too…”

  
  


“Ohh? Really...that’s nice, I guess you and my brother have the same taste in music then.”

Felix looked over towards the door, his face breaking into a smile, “It’s my brother’s go-to song most nights too”

Someone once told Jisung that whoever you bump into out of the blue, unexpected – to always remember it is not a chance meeting.

He was beginning to wonder now if all this was just a coincidence.

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

He presses the doorbell again, and when it strikes clear that no one will respond, Felix sighs and reaches for the security lock to type in the passcode. But just as he dials the first three numbers, the door before him unbolts and wrenches backwards to open wide.

Felix freezes in place with a slight yelp, standing with one hand reaching for the doorknob while the other clutches a simple white plastic grocery bag.

Right. Well. This is awkward. He gulps thickly. What if he thinks Jisung is trying to break in? "It's not what it looks like—," he shifts his gaze, forgetting what he was supposed to say.

Jisung coughs a little and asks, "What's is it lix?" The blonde boy's hair sticks up in different directions, obviously from running his hand through it many times.

He didn't sleep, did he?

'I'm sorry if it's an inconvenience...' Felix fiddles with his satchel strap, a habit Jisung noticed the younger one did whenever he was anxious or shy. "But can I ask you for a favour? My shift changed today, So I won’t be working at night and I needed to get Hyung to eat something, but I can't exactly leave work, so..."

Jisung ponders for a moment before agreeing.

So here, uncomfortably, he was standing in front of the dark teak door, a finger just a few inches shy of pressing the doorbell. A cool blast of air breezing past his ear, and all Jisung wants to do is step indoors. Will do anywhere.

And yet.

He hesitates. _**Why is he hesitating?**_

I signed up for this, he reminds tells himself, before releasing a brief exhale and rolling his shoulders back. No idea why, but he feels like he's going to have to. Jisung takes a look at his wristwatch. 8 o'clock. "I literally can not believe that I'm spending my day off at a stranger's place like this."

Jisung makes a face, recalling how the younger said his hyung wasn't too big on sleep, either.

His hand clenched the handles of the plastic bag that was now torn from the heavy shopping that had been in it since Felix dropped it by the older's earlier that morning. It smelled as though it once contained bananas, a faint but discernible sweet scent as it blended with the other contents of the bag.

Jisung is polite, so he decides to ring the doorbell without much contemplation, before attempting to knock on the door.

The air is quiet, and the chill of the morning is seeping into the skin of Jisung as he stands there waiting for a few uneasy seconds. He squeezes his shoes to the toe against a woven mat, fashioned with rustic strings, waiting.

The doormat could have been replaced years ago, its edges frayed and curled, but it was still here. It seems like both of them loved life-nostalgia.

He waited again before ringing the bell.

He waits.

**_And waits._ **

He waits.

Pressing the doorbell again, Jisung sighs when there's still no response, and reaches to knock when—

  
  


—the door is pushed wide open.

Jisung imagined a middle-aged person when Felix mentioned something about an older brother; one with wrinkles on his forehead, eye lines that spoke of laughter, soft smiles and love. Some balding, maybe. Who knows?

But it wasn't quite what he expected, and Jisung couldn't say that he was disappointed. Far from that, in fact. Before him stood someone who was of a good built, the man raised both hands to the sides of his hood, and pushed it back just a little, but it was enough. Jisung could see his purplish-pink hair sticking up under the arc lights much like a lavender halo. 

Here stood a man that, in terms of sleeplessness, looked like a reflection of Jisung.

There's a slight flush over his milky skin despite his weary looks, probably from just waking up? Wait, did he even sleep for that?

His lips are soft and plump, red as if he had frequently bitten them. Not that, Jisung noticed or anything. Dressed in a black hoodie way too big for the lad and half shorts, bare feet wiggling about on the hardwood floor. 

He’s also peering up blearily at Jisung, eyes narrowed and hazy with sleep.

Jisung parts and closes his mouth. Jisung, words. What are words? He forces his lips to move, clearing his throat. "Um. Uh...Sorry about dropping in like this? ”

The man blinks and then looks down at the plastic bag that he's holding.

"Oh... O-OHH, Yeah." In one hurried motion, Jisung passes it to him. "He sent me your brother. Felix, the one from the market downstairs? ”

Understanding sinks into the other’s eyes, and once, he nods. Jisung holds his breath and purses his lips when he reaches forward and unhooks the plastic bag from his curled fingers.

He’s nowhere near a hopeless romantic—he’s got a lot more realistic stuff to worry about—but he could have sworn that there was an electric zing! that shot through him when their fingers brushed. Without a second thought, Jisung, pulls back his clammy hand and tucks it in his pocket, suddenly self-conscious.

  
  


“I’m your neighbour, by the way,” he adds, pointing a finger up, towards the ceiling – drab and grey. Jisung holds out a hand for a handshake, lips curving up into a small smile that he hopes looks confident. Not that he's trying to impress anybody, but the boy sure aims to appear more socially approachable in front of beautiful creatures at least. Such as the human being in front of him.

Felix's older brother nods again, reaching for a handout—

—to grasp the handle of the front door, and pull it in to swing it closed.

Jisung blinks, his mid-air hand still hovering. **_H-Huh?_**

“Wait...Wait!” He yells, wedging his foot right in the gap between the threshold and the door before it clicks shut.

The man, in amazement, raises a curious eyebrow at him and leaves the door ajar.

Jisung doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t want one of the few human interactions he’s had in the last few weeks (aside from market’s counter employee aka Felix) to end this quickly.

Label him an opportunist all you want, but it's only now that Jisung figures out how cute... his neighbour? _**Apartment buddy?**_ And he's not about to leave until he knows his name, at least.

"What, there's no 'thank you'?" He asks jokingly, keeping the smile on his face. “No introduction or anything? By the way, I am Jisung.”

The man's face twists with bafflement, obviously not interested in chit-chatting or advancing the conversation.

Jisung’s shoulders deflate, and he steps backwards, taking it as a signal to leave. His hand drops to his side. “I mean, it's all right if you're not in the mood to do so. Make sure to eat something, yeah? Guess I'm just going to...go."

He turns on his heel, but a stern grip covers his wrist. Jisung stares at the pale hand on top of his skin, and looks up.

Face still pinched, the guy splits his lips and mouth in the direction of Jisung's words, 'Thank you.'

Jisung stops smiling. **_Why doesn't he talk?_**

“Are you... Are you all right? ”

One more sigh. Clearing his throat, the guy shakes his head. And turns his back to head inside the apartment.

All at once, concern flashes over Jisung’s confused face, and he waits patiently for the guy to return. When the purple-haired boy returns with a notepad, words scribbled on, Jisung feels even more puzzled.

The guy nods feebly, jutting out his lower lip before pressing the note into the other's hands.

Jisung was surprised by the sentence written.

> **Hey, I'm sorry. I'm unable to talk...**

Oh...

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

“That's all right,” answers the blonde boy, continuing to smile despite the information presented to him. Felix never mentioned anything... **_Why?_**

Jisung steals a look behind him at the apartment, and notices that the hallway room is fairly decent, only a tad bit cluttered.

He knows that he will regret what he is about to do, but Jisung has never been the kind of person to leave those in need. He gives a wry smile, "Have you eaten yet?" he asks. 

“Why am I doing this?” Jisung wonders as he takes back the bag that the purple-haired man had previously held onto and rummages through the content.

The shorter was not the sort of person to spontaneously just prepare lunch in the middle of the kitchen of his neighbour’s or stranger’s for that matter. There's not much in their refrigerator, but the cupboards have been scrounged enough to find sufficient ingredients and combined with those in the plastic bag, it will at least make one good bowl of rice soup.

What am I trying to achieve? He thinks quietly when he instructs the other inhabitant of the house to stay in the living room when Jisung brings the tray over. With a sullen sneeze, the boy complies. Is he sick?

Jisung doesn’t even know his name.

Through it all, with a cautious kind of reluctance, Felix's older brother watches him fuss around the kitchen, exhausted but letting himself be attended to. He tried to usher Jisung out once or twice, but Jisung never agreed.

He won't be sleeping anyway, so he may as well.

“So,” Jisung begins, as he picks up a small bowl and hands it to the shorter man, sitting on the edge of their dark grey sofa. "Is there something I can call you by, or are you okay with Darth Vader Dude? ”

Before snorting at the term, he watches the guy's eyes grow amused and levels the shorter with a look that seems to say, ‘Really?’

Grinning, Jisung points to the guy’s all-black-clad body. “I was just making a wild guess.” His hair was so pretty, Jisung thought as the other gave the hood a little push with two fingers, the fabric went slithering down his hair like a new stream, coming to rest at his neck. 

Despite his haggard appearance, Tired Darth Vader Dude’s face morphs with the upwards twitch of his mouth. Dimples?

He has dimples?? 

As the taller starts to smile. Jisung notices how it's the kind of smile that transforms him into someone else entirely, the kind of smile that puts stars in his eyes and a dazzle on his lips and he realizes that he's never seen someone like this before.

He looks vulnerable and soft—so human. His eyes are squinting from all his grinning and his cheeks are pink from the heat of the soup Jisung had just made. He's got dimples, the younger repeats to himself. It is easily the most beautiful thing that Jisung has ever looked at.

Just one embarrassed smile, and the original aloof demeanour of the guy changes.

He places his bowl on the coffee table as clears his throat before vaguely coughing out, "Ch...an."

Jisung cocks to one side with his head. “I...what?”

“You just talk!!!”

Darth Vader Dude scratches his head, when Jisung leans forward closer, so that he can hear him whisper now soft but clearer:

"Chan."

He’s answering Jisung’s question. “Ohhh.”

The guy drags the notepad he had written in and scribbles something more on it before handing it to Jisung.

The blonde boy looks at the paper, phrases in its bubbly and small, but legible print below the first one now read, "I have selective mutism. So... it's not that I can't speak; it's just... that I can't. Not yet.”

Jisung stared back at the shorter who was busy blowing softly against the soup a.mspoon before drinking it, eyelashes curling daintily as he ate. 

"My name is Chan, and instead of writing like this, I would prefer to text, also my arm hurts... so here xx-xxxx-xxxx"

**_Did he just give me his number?_ **

The purple-haired man had finished his meal and was waiting intently for the other to respond to his letter of sorts.

Nodding, Jisung sits back and regards him intently. 

Chan. What a name. He’s the first Chan that Jisung has ever met. 

“Nice to meet you, Chan.” He extends one hand, smiling shyly. It takes a heartbeat, maybe two, before Chan stops staring at his small hand and reaches out with his own. 

They shake hands, and Jisung is amazed how Chan's hands are just as warm and friendly as the glimmer in the older’s eyes. Something somewhere inside him tells him it would be nice to just keep holding them.

So, even though their touch lingers far longer than it should, he doesn't let go. Neither does Chan, and Jisung figures that he must have read his mind. He smiles.

This was weird. It's not every day that we meet individuals that we just...click with, like summer homes in a town of lost souls.

It's not often that Jisung finds hands like that of Chan's.

He's not supposed to be that laidback—heck, they just met an hour ago, the younger tries to coax his brain to think of all possible end games, with him found dead in a ditch because of a certain dimpled man who turned out to be a serial killer—but yet he feels so comfortable, something about Chan's calmness makes Jisung... 

  
  


**Yawn.**

  
  
  


He freezes.

_**Yawn?** _

  
  


He doesn’t ever do that.

It has to be contagious to insomniacs, because Chan brings a fist to his mouth in some kind of mirrored joke to hide his yawn, too.

Jisung glimpses at the clock. _10 am._ Typically on a day off such as today, after listening to CB97's voice, he would have been fast asleep by now. Head lolling sideways as he slowly dozes off to every whispered word.

Ironic how his eyes droop even if at the moment he was not tuned in to his favourite streamer. Perhaps it was the exhaustion that had eventually caught up with him.

“I'm sorry, I'm going to clean up and go after I've done eating too," Jisung mumbles, voice muffled, rubbing at his eyes. "Normally, I don't feel this sleepy."

He stands, turning to hurry out of the room to fetch a glass of water for himself and Chan, but not before hearing a soft, 'Same.'

The blonde boy took his phone out and texted the other with a— **Hey** , to which there was an immediate response.

**C:** Shouldn’t you be sleeping at home?; the text read.

“I don’t sleep very well,” Jisung shares, wringing his hands together. “So it’s not a—“ he stifles another yawn, “...big deal.”

Chan looks doubtful, but he's not texting any more, and the last thing Jisung remembers is his friendly gaze, because his body is leaning forward and his face plants into the sofa's plush texture, knocked out cold.

Chan falls asleep no more than ten minutes later, too.

They remain like that for the rest of the day, sleeping on the sofa together, a handful of bananas and an unwashed bowl left forgotten on the coffee table.

  
  


And when Felix comes home at dusk, he grins wide and mutters, “Well that’s a first...”

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧


	3. Three a.m.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Mentioned :  
> \- Three by Sleeping at Last  
> \- Chasing Pirates by Norah Jones  
> \- I’m not sleeping by Counting Crows

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

Too bad it's the last time Jisung gets a fistful of sleep.

Because now, on a Monday morning, two days later, he's back to being a walking corpse. Most jobs, frankly, are bullshit, but his takes the cake. For Jisung, work was often hectic. If stress could be coffee in a cup, and if the cup spills you are overwhelmed and sick, then it makes sense to put a lid on that cup.

The blonde boy always tried to put a lid on it, but it didn't work out more than once.

Jisung doesn't exactly want to mortify himself again, as soothing as Chan's presence may have been. A complete 18 hours later, waking up entangled next to Chan was embarrassing enough.

As the morning sun shone through the window, Jisung can still remember the way the realization dawned on him; he can still recall Felix standing over them with a sly smirk on his face.

“This is not what it looks like,” he’d reasoned, and Felix just nodded, that freckled nose of his scrunching up as a grin ever-present on his face appeared. 

“Wasn’t saying anything,” the younger said, tone still suggestive but quiet—Chan was still sleeping. “But I hope hyung is feeling... better.”

Jisung didn't linger long enough to find out whatever 'better' meant. So nope. Regardless of Jisung's pure intentions, attempting to perhaps-sorta doze off beside Chan again is out of the question.

What’s he gonna do—knock on his neighbour’s door with a pillow in hand and ask to sleep together?

**_Unrealistic._** They’re not even that close.

And so Monday chugs along like a rusty train, until morning turns to afternoon, and afternoon bleeds to dusk.

Jisung reaches for his phone out of habit by the time the clock hits 3 AM again, blinking at the strong contrast of blue light in his eyes against the darkness of the bed.

He licks his lower lip, and realizes that his palms have turned sweaty. Jisung presses the podcast app, closing his eyes to brace himself, once again expecting nothing but hollow, dark grey static.

  
  


_It's not._

> **And with or without it, I’m good enough;**
> 
> **Maybe I’ve done enough**
> 
> **Finally catching up...**

Music pours into Jisung’s ears, filling his heart with liquid sunlight. With a gasp, his eyes fly open and he sits upright in bed.

> **For the first time I’m seeing an image of**
> 
> **my brokenness utterly worthy of love**
> 
> **Maybe I’ve done enough...**

Jisung gasps softly, as his body melts into the mattress. He’s relieved. He’s so fucking relieved it feels like he might dance along the light of the stars tonight. 

He sighs and relaxes against his bed's headboard as the final few chords fade down.

> **And leave my greatest failures on display**
> 
> **with an asterisk worthy of love anyway**

The song is over, but Jisung’s night has only just begun. He lays down with eager anticipation, waiting for the host of the podcast to start talking, because he needs to make sure. He needs to make sure it is—

“That was ‘Three’ by Sleeping at Last, and you’re here with me, CB97 tonight until...”

Jisung bites back a squeal, his fingertips tightly gripping his sheets, and maybe he's a little too pleased, because suddenly a teardrop escapes from his left eye.

_It's merely a voice._

_**It's simply a podcast.** _

He knows that, but hey, people are strange— without even understanding it, we develop deep attachments to random things.

“Tonight I’m finally back after a brief vacation and you know what?” CB97 continues.

“What?” Jisung asks into the empty air.

“I know we rarely do this every month but, we’re gonna restart it again, alright?” CB97 chuckles into the microphone, voice a bit high pitched, excited than usual.

Jisung shifts his position so that he’s lying down on his left side, phone placed on his plushie like usual.

“I’m taking song requests for the 1st hour of the show,” CB97 informs. “So if you’ve got any dedications or burning requests, drop me a text on the number, xx-xxxx-xxxx.”

Eyes widening, Jisung’s back stiffens. His heart pounds against his ribcage, and his mouth goes dry. This is the man whose voice for the past few weeks has been lulling him to sleep. Jisung has always pegged him as someone unreachable, unobtainable—like a distant illusion.

It has never once crossed his mind that CB97 is an actual living, breathing person.

Him? Text CB97? **_Haha...hilarious_**

  
  


Jisung gulps, a rush of anxiety and adrenaline surging through his veins. Felix had always told him that in life he had to 'YOLO' more, so maybe this was his chance.

He messages the hotline with shaking fingers, pulse racing as he presses send. 

CB97 keeps reading out texts and he wonders whether the other would ever read out his.

The host is smooth and professional in his job, though, and notes each song when, “OH, Wow...there is an interesting recommendation by someone named H.J” 

His words snap Jisung out of his idol-worship reverie. The blonde boy’s heart seizes and stutters, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Chasing Pirates,” CB97 whispers into his mic. “By Norah Jones.” CB97 hums in acknowledgement. “Stellar choice, I wonder whether this was dedicated to anybody in particular—”

He does a double-take, curling into a fetal position, trying not to cry, because **CB97 IS READING HIS TEXT**. Jisung doesn’t think twice. Maybe it’s the warmth of being under his blanket making him feel bold, daring even, but Jisung wants to dedicate it to—

  
  


“You.”

The boy fumbles around staring at his roof, empty air listening to him repeat, “It’s for you”

The host sneezes, “Excuse me…” a long pause later, he says, “...Why do I get the feeling someone is talking about me...” and Jisung feels like his heart might collapse, or at any given time the sky could fall over his head. If it surprises CB97, he hides it like a pro. With one chuckling exhale, he says, “Okay! Let’s play this song first then...”

Jisung nods like his head was made for nodding, before realizing that this isn’t a face-to-face conversation.

“Yes,” he bites out with a quaver in his voice, his throat getting choked up. 

He sobs as the song resonates through his room, "I'm so glad I found you.”

Now he’s done it. He’s gone and had an emotional meltdown over someone's voice through a mere podcast.

While Jisung wants to turn the stream off, but he is curious.

Music continues to fill his earphones afterwards, Jisung is convinced he can finally unwind and relax...when his phone once again lights up.

  
  


Frowning, Jisung squints at his phone screen, baffled. _Who the hell could be texting him at fucking 4:35 am?_

**C:** what kind of music do you like?

  
  


Chan? 

“I guess, he’s still awake then…” 

Hmm..lately? Anything that can get me to sleep… **: J**

The message bubble pops up and disappears a few times then—

**C:** Listen to “I’m not sleeping” by Counting Crows

Jisung reads the message a couple of times, _Is it just me or does this count as concern?_

Alright...Thanks. Hope you get sleep soon =) **: J**

**C:** you too!

Something about that exchange made him smile, and before he knew it, the blonde-haired boy snores softly, thoughts of the podcast and music playing filling his soul. 

Was it the text message to CB97 or Chan that brought him comfort....he was yet to know.

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

The day had just begun when Jisung frantically rummaged through his cupboard for a suit which was decent enough to wear to today’s board meeting. _10:25 am_. The wall clock ticked away reminding him of how late he truly was. “Fuck!!!,” the blonde boy yelled, before grabbing his wallet and phone from where it had been placed last night after dozing off, “I am so screwed…”

Jisung pulled the door shut behind him and jogged towards the elevator only to be met with an ‘out of order’ sign. Dishevelled as he is, Jisung groans while taking the stairs down, grumbling all the way. It was times like these that he was glad his apartment was only three floors up. 

He reached the ground floor only to collide headfirst into a well-dressed man. The blonde boy's eyes widen as his feet stumble over his own and the contents of his backpack fall to the floor in a clatter. "Wo...ah" The purple-haired boy rushed into an apology as his hand wrapped around the other's waist and held him there, safe from falling, their eyes met for a moment and the taller forced himself to look away as his cheeks flushed bright red. 

Jisung stepped away from Chan's grasp, amazed to say nevertheless how well the older cleaned up. It's been a while since he last saw the man, but now he looks less haggard. No more dark circles covering the underside of his eyes, his purple-streaked hair no longer straw-like or sticking up in different directions, Chan looks—no...feels—like a _different_ person... _Is it odd that I miss that Darth Vader look?_

Chan took out his phone and a ping was heard, the younger swiped through his texts, knowing very well time was not waiting for him but yet—

**C:** Do you perhaps need a lift?

The blonde-haired boy raised a brow, deeply pondering over the question, but agreed without much hesitation. I am already late, this will cut my time in half...besides I think this would be his way of returning the favour for the meal. Jisung reasoned well with himself.

The way to work was not too long, whenever Jisung took the bus it would be around 30 minutes. But today, there was traffic. The one day, he needed to be there, he woke up late, the lift was out of order, he collided with chan, and now...Now he was stuck in traffic. 

The shorter one kept grumbling under his breath, so while the signal stayed on red, Chan took out his phone and sent another text. 

**C:** You know it’s alright to be late to work, say there was a personal emergency or something...It will be fine! 

Jisung frowned, soft lines adorning his forehead as his brows stitched together in disagreement. What do you know? He thought to himself while he typed a half-assed reply.

Lol, sure. **: J**

It’s only when he hit send, he realised how that must have sounded. **Shit.**

_He didn’t mean to be rude…_

After taking a deep breath, Jisung muttered a sorry and said, “I slept well yesterday night, so thank you for the song—”

The boy turned to face the older while he said the next few words, “—and for the ride. You didn’t have to...It’s just that……...my day just started wonky so—”

The purple-haired man smiled, while looking at the younger and shrugged lightly while texting. The lights were still red, and Jisung swiped at the notification that popped on his phone screen.

**C:** We all have bad days Jisung...I understand :) Where are you headed anyways...An address would be nice haha.

Jisung’s lips curved into a smile and he knew at once that it was from within. He texted the older back the address just as the lights turned green. The rest of the car ride was, well, one could say Jisung felt light-hearted and at ease; more so than he was at the start of the day.

The blonde boy stepped out of the car once they reached his office building, continuously thanking Chan for giving him a ride here, for being patient with his chaotic ass, for—

“It’s...okay.”

_**A sentence.** _

_Did...Did Chan just talk to me?_

Jisung’s expression was one of pure shock and disbelief, “Y-You just spoke to me,” the shorter was taken aback by how Chan chose to trust him enough to be able to talk to him. 

He watched the purple-haired boy sigh quietly, before giving him the most heartfelt smile while mouthing the words ‘ _Good Luck_ ’, Jisung could see how it came from deep inside to light his eyes and spread into every part of him. A person smiles with more than their mouth, and he heard it in his voice, in the choice of his words and the way he relaxed.

It was beautiful.

Chan was beautiful. 

As Jisung retreated into the corridors of the glassed 25 storey building, his mind mulled over the elder’s voice and how eerily familiar it sounded to him. 

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧


	4. Oh, but the rain...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song Mentioned :  
> \- Fly me to the moon Cover by The Macarons Project

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

Who knew Felix was such a good cook? Jisung feasted his eyes before the elaborate spread in front of him. His stomach growled in response, Chan snickered beside him, earning a glare from the younger. Split pea soup, bitter greens with sweet potatoes, roasted mushrooms with rare roast beef slices as thin as paper, red sauced noodles, with cheese that melts on your tongue served with sweet golden persimmons. Jisung couldn’t be happier while munching away, “Did you make this all by yourself?”

Felix side-eyes Chan and replies nonchalantly, “Well I did get help, but it’s not always for the best. Chan is such a ba—”

The table rattles a little followed by a low groan from Felix; seems like the siblings liked playing footsie under the table. Jisung smirks, “I figured he wouldn’t be the best at cooking anyways,” while looking at the purple-haired man who had now turned away from the pair, hiding his very reddened face. 

  
  


**_Cute._ **

_ Chan was cute.  _

Once dinner was done, Felix said he was heading to bed leaving the other two awkward and without words.

Chan was the first one to talk, or well, to text.

**C:** Do you want to go for a walk?

  
  


Jisung looked up from his screen, watching Chan already up grabbing a backpack, walking towards the door. The blonde boy bit his lip and smiled, he already knows…

His mind became clearer with each step, more resolute, as if the rising physical distance between them had now become an emotional chasm. As the emerging moonlight caressed the skin of the younger, promising a new dawn, a new beginning, his memories of the older were buried, few as they were. Then he paused abruptly to close his eyes, taking in a deep breath of dewy air, and Chan walked alongside him, hair fluttering beautifully in the breeze, arms wrapped tightly around him. As the clouds started to gather in the sky, the pair felt the cold wind stroking their skin, steadily quickening their pace. Jisung looked at the older boy, his face taken over by a faint blush. Chan caught the younger looking and chuckled softly, before sending a text.

  
  


**C:** You keep staring...whats up?

...Nothing, just thinking **: J**

Chan watches the blonde boy as he types his reply and hits enter. Jisung whispers, “We don’t really know each other but...I like being around you Chan”

Chan’s expression shifted like a palette of colours; confusion, endearment and intrigue, veiling his canvas like face. Jisung smiled to himself, kicking a pebble lying in front of him across the street. Comparing him like art...wow Jisung you are sounding really…

How did he manage to have such effulgent molten brown eyes, the moon did something different to them. Jisung s̶o̶u̶n̶d̶e̶d̶ felt whipped. 

The sky had been postcard-perfect up until now, but it was shifting fast. The gorgeous blue cocktail shade was starting to darken into a gravel-grey hue. Big cloud pillows were growing, blotting out the moon's aged colour. The rain pounded hard against the ground with a crack of thunder around them, but Jisung's heart pounded harder against the walls of his ribcage. It went pitter-patter, wild and unsteady, and while it’s noisy everywhere, all sound faded away until he could only hear each hammering beat.

He doesn’t know why. This is a man he’s only met thrice, but hey—people don’t choose who their hearts race for.

Jisung may or may not have realized that somewhere along the way he’d linked hands with Chan.

Did he grab first? _Did Chan?_

Chan takes out his black umbrella, and Jisung—

Jisung doesn’t mind being pressed close to the elder’s warmth for the rest of the walk together. It’s raining out, but his insides are warming with Starfire and Sunshine giddiness.

“Your shoulder’s getting wet,” he points out to Chan moments later, noticing the dark patch of rain forming on top of his arm.

His neighbour shrugs.

Jisung can’t help but smile.

They reach their apartment building far too early, far too soon, and the moment they clamber inside the elevator, Jisung lets go of Chan’s hand to press the 3rd-floor button. He doesn’t slip his hand back in his, and in the small space they stand-in, he maintains distance.

Suddenly, cold silence ensues.

The air turns... awkward again.

  
  


And it's only now that Jisung recalls the last time he was with Chan, away from the rain and the heavy, sweet breeze, was when he had collided with him ungracefully, and the other time was when he had fallen asleep on his sofa, like some poor stray cat with no place to call home. Jisung nervously swallows and licks his lips, keeping his eyes downcast. What should he say now?

While it's just three floors up, the elevator ride feels long, the boy thanks heavens above that the elevator operated because he could not imagine walking up the stairs with a silence this thick.

Jisung wonders if Chan is getting uncomfortable. He hugs himself, his damp sweatshirt shivering against him. _Should he apologize?_

Ah. No. There’s something else he should be saying.

Jisung clears his throat just as the elevator dings at their stop. “Um. Thanks. For the umbrella.”

His voice echoes loud and clear, and it makes Chan's head snap up for some reason. For a brief second, his gaze falls on Jisung, his brows creased with a sudden intensity that makes Jisung want to run and hide.

The doors of the elevator then slide open, and Jisung takes the opportunity to scamper out.

“Yeah….So thanks for dinner and the walk!” Jisung calls over his shoulder as he scampers away from the too-warm elevator. Chan follows out. The boy just noticed how Chan was on his floor.

**_He’s a floor down why did he...?_ **

Chan comes closer, right behind him, as Jisung unlocks his door and says, "No... thank you~"

Jisung pauses. Tilts his head to one side.

There’s something familiar about that intonation, that slight honeyed voice, emphasis at the tip of every word. It almost sounds like—

“Hyung!”

Jisung’s trail of thought shatters at the sound of Felix’s petulant cry from the staircase, the moment he sees Chan walking towards it.  “Where were you?” Felix whines, “The storm is so violent outside, I got scared when I woke up and saw you two missing,”

“Sorry...we lost track of time,” chuckles the man, ruffling the platinum locks of the younger; dimples deepening.

God damn those _dimples_.

As he steps into his apartment, Jisung shakes his head. No, he reassures himself, it can't be. It must have been a clear, uncanny resemblance.

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

4 am, Jisung notes from the digital clock on his bedside. Settling back under his duvet, he plugs his earphones in, and CB97's voice fills his ears again as soon as it does.

"...and that wraps up the night's last song request, thank you all for staying up with me," the host recites, his dialogue conversational and pleasant. "But before we go it's my turn to do something special..."

  
  


Jisung frowns, curiosity spiking.

“I’d like to dedicate a song to some people tonight.”

Jisung's spine goes stiff, and he lies on his bed very, very still.  CB97 murmurs, "This one goes out to somebody named H.J," and Jisung is certain that his lungs have decided to stop taking in oxygen. Jisung is shocked, to say the least, exhilarated as he might be, to feel tears pinching the corners of his eyes. He blinks them away, and they fall on his pillowcase, staining the rest of his sheets with a dark blue.

  
  


It’s a nice feeling; knowing you’re not alone. It’s a nice feeling; knowing somebody out there cares enough to reach out.

The soft, opening notes of a new song start to play:

> **Fly me to the moon**
> 
> **Let me play among the stars**
> 
> **Let me see what spring is like**
> 
> **On a, Jupiter and Mars**
> 
> **In other words, hold my hand**
> 
> **In other words, baby, kiss me**

It's strange. He feels like a long-lost friend, but CB97 is nothing but a stranger It's like he knows just what Jisung wants, not needing words.

> **Fill my heart with song**
> 
> **And let me sing forevermore**
> 
> **You are all I long for**
> 
> **All I worship and adore**
> 
> **In other words, please be true**
> 
> **In other words, I love you**

Once upon a time there was a silence that dreamed of becoming a song, Jisung muses with childlike wonder, and then I found you, and now everything is music.

The song goes on like that, sweet and gentle to the pounding heart of Jisung as a lullaby. It's just a song for the average listener, but for him, it's a serenade. The blonde boy's eyelids begin to drop, and he eventually dozes off in the still quietness of his dark bedroom window.

Maybe tonight he'll dream of a faceless voice.

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧


	5. Flirting? Maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Mentioned :  
> \- Stuck with U by Ariana Grande  
> \- Fall for you by Secondhand Serenade

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

With the aid of the Livestream, the following weekdays pass with Jisung lulling to sleep into the wee hours of the morning and weekdays have also been packed with either deadlines or spending time with Chan. Felix, too, but generally he wasn't around, hanging out with a friend of his. It seemed to the younger that Chan just liked company, and there was always a reason to be with the purple-haired man. Jisung never liked the silence, but things were different with Chan. Even the silence sounded almost musical. While most of the talk was made by the younger, Chan's responses remained limited to only texts; Jisung appreciated the quiet tranquillity somehow. There was comfort in their _silence_. 

For Chan too, the younger’s voice remained as warm as early spring. Jisung watched the sea, lost in the rhythmic percussion of waves on sand. His eyes were steady towards the horizon, face aglow with the last orange rays before twilight beckons the stars. His lips bore the semblance of a smile, just enough to show that he is enjoying his thoughts, whatever they may be.

The older moves closer so that he feels the other’s presence, yet stays quiet, allowing him to stay lost in the moment a while longer. 

The waves break around the rocks in the shallows, their foam crests becoming chaotic lace over the blue. Chan watches it swirl, mesmerized, as if the movement of the water choreographs her thoughts.

“Jisung…,” Chan starts, voice hoarser than usual, words get stuck on their way out. _I want to talk to you, I wish I talk to you but…_

Jisung looks at the older boy expectantly, his eyes creasing at the sides when no words follow. He reaches out and grasps Chan’s hands into his, “Channie...don’t force yourself. I don’t mind sitting in silence with you,” crescent moons take shape on the youngers face, and Chan’s heart lurches forward. _But I mind. I long for you to hear me sung…_

Visiting the beach was Chan’s idea but Jisung felt the most at home there. Unbeknownst whether it was due to the beach itself, or the fact that the purple-haired man was there with him. His heart pounded loudly, as he chanted a quiet prayer that the older wasn’t able to hear its intensity. The waves came in as a deep aquamarine and turn golden as they churn the sand on the shore. Each hue is made more pretty by the brilliant white of the crests, and if it weren’t for the roar of the sea Jisung was sure Chan would have heard. The younger continued to rub circles onto his palms, delicately, a mindless habit he had taken up. Ears reddening from the continuous action, Chan too, gazed at the sea in its vastness. 

Little did the blonde boy know that if it weren’t for the waves, Jisung too could have heard Chan’s heart race. 

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

"Hello and welcome to the late-night podcast of Your Daily Insomniac and you're here with me, CB97 throughout the early hours of the morning." As usual, his voice is like gold-spun candy, rich and sweet, and it dispels all previous suspicions in Jisung's mind that anyone in real life never could sound similar to CB97, not even slightly.

No one talks that honestly, or properly. Jisung draws his blanket up to his head, shrouded in his bedroom's dark stillness.

“Tonight, we are going to be doing something different, I was thinking of talking...or well reading some of our listener’s stories, I don’t know how many of you have heard about my new blog,” 

“Just like how you guys are always listening to me, this time around I’m all ears for you and your stories,” continues the podcast host. “Tell me something interesting, and share your stories on Your Daily Insomniac’s official blog along with your song requests, or give me a call on the hotline xx-xxxx-xxxx. One hour from now, I’ll be picking a couple of lucky listeners’ stories to read out live on-air tonight after the calls.”

Jisung doesn’t have anything interesting to share, but he still wants to send something. He flicks through the phone and opens up Google to search for the podcast’s official blog.

When CB97 adds, "Remember anything goes! Let’s listen to this song before heading for a commercial break." The blonde boy decides to send whatever he feels, a random story about days he spent here. 

Ariana Grande’s ‘Stuck with U’ fills up the grey-walled interiors of Jisung’s flat. He smiled listening to the lyrics, cute. 

Jisung sits up in bed, still frozen in his clouded thoughts, as CB97's section cuts to the commercials. Before him, he stares at the blank comment box on the blog; as the type tool blinks from his phone screen at him, the blonde boy pouts unsure of what to send in again. Memories—that was such a difficult thing for Jisung. For him those were invoked by fragrance. It was like the scent of crabs being cooked over an old stove while he was at the seaside, shingle underfoot, fishing boats shimmering in the afternoon sun. 

Yet the strongest memory for the blonde-haired boy lately, the one that feels most like being sunk into one of those alternate reality devices, is Chan's giggle.

It felt odd to think of the older one as a memory, when it was Jisung's present.

Chan reminded him of something delicate like wind-chimes and just as chaotic, just as melodic.

Being at sea with the taller, invoked so much peace within him, that before Jisung knew, Eyelids fell shut. Jisung could picture it all so vividly that it’s almost as if he’s back in the past rather than attempting to relive it. And he hit send on the blog. 

An hour later, CB97 begins picking calls and reads the audience stories in between—Jisung doesn’t want his to be picked but he can’t help feeling nervous.

The show goes on, people call and interviews keep happening. The host laughs at something, suppressed but hearty. **_That laugh_** ……..I have heard that sound before.

“Now, onto another story,” CB97 announces, and Jisung’s pulse spikes. He crosses his fingers, forgetting his thoughts once again.

_ Please don’t be mine… _

This one is from..." CB97 clears his throat, and the next time he speaks, in his voice there is a hint of amusement." "I'm not sure if I should read this," the host went on a pause later, "It's from someone named H.J, and they have fond memories of the beach."

As the host narrated the story Jisung had sent out heat rushes up the boy’s neck, and he shudders as he listens to his own words as told by CB97. Urgh. Now that it's out there, for anyone to hear live on-air, everything he typed in sounds so... so mushy, so melodramatic, and so unfunny. At the thought of having to read his story right now, CB97 must be so weirded out.

  
  


“Clearly this story was meant for someone you have feelings for…,” the host chuckles as he finishes reading the entry.

Jisung leans back with a groan, his head sinking onto his pillow. Doubt creeps and crawls through his mind like an uninvited insect. Perhaps he needs to just stop engaging in the little activities of this podcast. This so-called CB97 almost seems to be on a secret mission to smash his heart open, tear his walls down by making him reveal the little stuff.

"Here, in the meantime, is 'Fall for you,' by Secondhand Serenade. After the commercial break, I'll be right back.' CB97 goes off-air with that.

> **It couldn't be that we have been this way before**
> 
> **I know you don't think that I am trying**
> 
> **I know you're wearing thin down to the core**
> 
> **But hold your breath**

On the podcast, the song is still playing; its lyrics echoing everything that Jisung wants to convey but can’t find the right words for:

> **Because tonight will be the night that I will fall for you**
> 
> **Over again**
> 
> **Don't make me change my mind**
> 
> **Or I won't live to see another day**
> 
> **I swear it's true**

“...and we are back, this is CB97, Christopher to my mother, and Chris to most of my friends, staying up with you all night until the sun rises…”

"I wonder if this song is dedicated to anyone... or is it for me?" The volume of the song decreases, to mere tunes in the background. "Mr H.J...I'd love to know," says CB97 gently, curious. The host teases as the song continues, voice low and soulful, "I may very well be wrong, but I certainly think you're flirting with me right now.

Jisung dips his head shyly and tucks it close to his knees. “Mmm, maybe?”

And what’s the harm in that…

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧


	6. Letters and Polaroids

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

Chan, stretched as usual before sitting in front of his camera, the podcast stream button ready to go live. 

"Hello and welcome to the late-night podcast of Your Daily Insomniac and you're here with me, CB97 throughout the early hours of the morning."

The boy looked through his notes app, for the schedule for today and smiled...He’s always wanted to switch things out every other night. Today seemed like a perfect one to begin with. 

“Tonight, we are going to be doing something different, I was thinking of talking...or well reading some of our listener’s stories, I don’t know how many of you have heard about my new blog,” he paused before opening a new tab with the podcast blog coming into view.

“Just like how you guys are always listening to me, this time around I’m all ears for you and your stories,” continues the podcast host. “Tell me something interesting, and share your stories on Your Daily Insomniac’s official blog along with your song requests, or give me a call on the hotline xx-xxxx-xxxx. One hour from now, I’ll be picking a couple of lucky listeners’ stories to read out live on-air tonight after the calls.”

Chan’s surprised to see answers pouring in immediately. Some short ones and others with elaborately put together stories, so he quickly adds, “Remember anything goes! Let’s listen to this song before heading for a commercial break.…”

He plays 'Stuck with U' by Ariana Grande and twirls in his chair. The eyes of the boy land on polaroids that he had plastered across his small wall space that blew softly due to the wind coming from the tiny window. Five photos, to be precise: one was of him and Brian hyung at the dinosaur museum they visited on his 17th birthday. The next was a picture of him standing confidently on a playground merry-go-round, with his two best friends Changbin and Minho also striking poses. Next to that picture was one of him holding his trophy for the science fair, his dimples prominent as his parents stood beside him with proud smiles. I miss Australia. Another picture of him sitting by a pond with his brother Felix and tossing some bread crumbs into the water for the ducks. Finally, a photo that he took of Jisung a few days ago. At the beach. 

Chan couldn’t remember how it all started; a more tired version of himself longed for the younger’s affection from the start, and nothing he did seemed to show that Jisung even slightly reciprocated those feelings. Perhaps it was his dependence on the other for social interaction, but he wasn’t sure.

Something ached in the older, I miss you. Is that normal? 

As the commercial ends and calls start going around, Chan’s mind still is preoccupied with a certain round-cheeked boy and crescent moons.    
  


“Now, onto another story,” the boy says, momentarily hesitating as he skims through the entire passage. 

“This one is from..." Chan clears his throat, and the next time he speaks, there is a hint of amusement in his voice." "I'm not sure if I should read this," a pause later Chan continued, "It's from someone named H.J, and they have fond memories of the beach."

  
  


_ Dear CB97  _

_ The sea always enticed me. So when I went to the beach-side with a friend of mine a few days ago. Words can't explain what I saw. Or, what I felt. _

_ The dark blue waves stretched to the far-off horizon, mingling with the clouds. They were rolling back and slowly leaving pebbles on the shore. I stared at the sea for what felt like hours and hours. _

_ We had decided this was the best vantage point for taking in this whole memorizing view and with enough room for us to have fun. Thankfully! As we had hoped the weather did not disappoint that day and the light blue sky. The bright sun was almost hot enough to cover me like an invisible blanket of warmth while walking along the beach. My friend kept picking up shells of all kinds of sizes.  _

_ He was just there, next to me, tracing the skins of the curiously coloured hemispheres with the softest finger in the world. _

_ He looked up and saw me watching him and I felt my knees give out. He smiled—that smile!  _

Chan coughs. _**Is this?**_

_ In my life, I've moved a lot, and not always out of choice, it's expensive and tiring, but there's something that appeals to me about that rootlessness and freedom. I felt most happy like that in front of the sea: all the crap of getting a permanent address, or even a contact, recedes. It is an admin-free zone that is rare. _

_ Maybe I also like it because I'm allowed to enjoy my normal life which is on the edge of everything. As I watched the seagulls joyfully fly around in circles in the air, the beautiful, great blue ocean waves crashing into the cliffs. With a gentle breeze, the soft, golden sand ran between my toes. The entire environment and the landscape were amazingly fascinating. _

_ I reassured my friend about several things. There were exchanges of compliments, me with words and his with looks. Laughter flowed back and forth. The warmth was unmistakable between us. It was then that I realized that inside this heaven-like place I had become so indulged and relaxed, but what made it even more heavenly was the company of someone whom I cherished.  _

  
Chan chuckles as he finishes reading the entry. “Clearly this story was meant for someone you have feelings for…” 

“Meanwhile, here’s ‘Fall for you’, by Secondhand Serenade. I’ll be right back after the commercial break.” With that, Chan goes off-air.

> **It couldn't be that we** **have been this way before**
> 
> **I know you don't think that I am trying**
> 
> **I know you're wearing thin down to the core**
> 
> **But hold your breath**

On the podcast, the song is still playing; its lyrics echoing everything that Chan wants to convey but can’t find the right words for. He rereads the story submitted and tears fill his eyes, _Could it be him?_

No.

  
  


But, what if?

  
  
  
  


If so... Jisung…

**_I cherish you too._ **

> **Because tonight will be the night that I will fall for you**
> 
> **Over again**
> 
> **Don't make me change my mind**
> 
> **Or I won't live to see another day**
> 
> **I swear it's true**

“...and we are back, this is CB97, Christopher to my mother, and Chris to most of my friends, staying up with you all night until the sun rises…”

"I wonder if this song is dedicated to anyone... or is it for me?" The volume of the song decreases, to mere tunes in the background. "Mr H.J...I'd love to know," the older says gently, curious. Chan teases, as the song continues, voice low and soulful, "I may very well be wrong, but I certainly think you're flirting with me right now.

  
  
  


I hope you are...He thinks while looking at the polaroid of the younger, round-cheeked, crescent moons and all; gently blowing in the wind.

Cause what’s the harm in that...

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

Chan looked at the open-mic night tickets in his hand and wondered what to do with them. He worked as an independent bookstore owner and when Changbin his best friend gave him those free passes, he took them without thinking about who to take. 

A door opened and shut, footsteps resounded towards where Chan was sitting and a tiny silver mop popped into the room. “Heylu~”

“Oh, you’re back already?” the older boy asked Felix, who had now conveniently sat on Chan’s bed, bouncing a little.

“Mmmhmm, what you got there?” 

Chan leaned over the back of his seat, sighing while holding up the passes for the event, “This…”

The younger’s eyes sparkled as he reached out and grabbed them out of the purple-haired man’s hands, “Wow...these look so cool, who are you planning to take?”

Felix was teasing, Chan knew that but he wouldn’t let the freckled boy get away with it easily. “I need some advice.” He said bluntly, staring at his monitor. He had only known Jisung for so long, could he ask him out for such an event? He felt a bit silly suddenly, but his brother’s voice shook him out of his thoughts.

“Of course! What’s on your mind?”

A relaxed smile spread across Chan’s face before he returned his thoughts to the subject at hand. “I was wondering...if I was to take someone out, say, someone I just became close to, how should I go about it?”

Felix peeled a banana, took a bite and thought for a moment. “Well, you have to be careful with what you say. And be sure to make it clear that if they aren’t interested in you, you still want to be friends.”

Chan laughed pitifully. “What if you can’t find the words?”

The platinum-haired boy paused, eyes twinkled before replying, “Hyung...Just ask sung...He’ll say yes.” Chan’s ears reddened as he scoffed, “Haha…...what do you mean? It’s-It’s not him...haha…”

Felix walked towards the door, “Whether you agree or not, you know he will say yes. So why worry?”

**_Because I am afraid._ **

Chan nodded, “I know...I will try.”

As he left the room, Chan glanced at his phone where a text laid unopened from hours ago:

**Hey :’) I hope you have a good day, I’ll come by around tonight...getting tired of sitting at home. See you and lix**

Chan grinned looking around the room in thought while clutching the tickets to his chest. “I’ve got this; now, let’s clean this room.”

Jisung was at the supermarket when Chan texted that he had something to show him when he would come over and his heart pounded. Butterflies filling his stomach. 

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧


	7. Blue bells Tavern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Mentioned :  
> \- Beautiful Feeling by Day6  
> \- To Die For by Sam Smith

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

Chan was quiet as usual when the blonde boy came over, but something had changed in the air between them. Even Felix noticed; when leaving the pair to themselves, the younger one only grinned. The purple-haired boy was anxious, a lot more than the first time Jisung had ever interacted with him.

Sometime during the night while watching a movie on the couch, comfy blankets over their almost touching knees. Chan taps the younger causing him to turn and the dimpled man presses the event passes into his palms, uncertainty written all over his face. 

  
  


“And what are these?” Jisung asks, voice soft almost inaudible. Chan smiles, warm and affectionate, “An open-mic night, I want you to come with me.”

Once again, a nagging feeling makes itself known in Jisung’s mind—something about the way Chan’s honeyed voice seems to sound so familiar and yet otherworldly to him —but he pushes the thought away. He can still feel the weight of the older’s warm gaze pinning him in place. “Y-You...I,” the blonde-haired boy stuttered, confused. 

Jisung’s eyes widened. The taller was waiting for his answer with an expectant look on his face. “You want me to go with you?” Without meaning to, his eyes naturally find their way to meet Chan’s gaze.

Jisung smells like freshly baked bread and cinnamon, it takes everything in the older not to snuggle closer to him. 

“Yes, Jisung…”

_September 14th, 7:00 pm, Blue Bells Tavern, Seoul_ ; he read with a small smile and a hopeful lurch of his heart, “I can’t wait...”

  
  


Looks like he won’t have to celebrate his birthday on his own after all.

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

The city of Seoul breathes a different form of air into its people at night. The atmosphere turns warm and heavy with the electric thrum radiating off faceless crowds, and the blinking neon lights and signs paint every street with a kaleidoscopic glow. It's all kinds of heady, psychedelic and bedazzling. 

The aroma of spices wafts through the air from street food stalls, and Jisung closes his eyes as he inhales deeply, letting his worries slip away for the next few hours.

The pair walk around Itaewon, weaving in and out crowds of shoppers and bustling teenagers, and once or twice Jisung’s knuckles brush with the back of Chan’s hand. 

They don’t hold hands, _they have no reason to._ There's no rainstorm to take cover from, unlike last time.

They don’t hold hands, and Jisung scolds himself for wanting to.

As they enter the pub that holds the open-mic even Jisung looks around at ironically nostalgic posters on the walls, a chalkboard menu of idiosyncratically titled local brews, a cabal of the city's musicians and music fans in seemingly random attire that adhered to a strict but unknown (to him) dress code. He looked down at his casual boring fit and sneakers. His fingers brushed against the dark green guitar pick he'd found on the ground after the only rock concert he'd ever been to - the one he snuck out after curfew for. He didn't remember pocketing it from his dresser that morning. Chan gestured towards an empty table and the two took seats. 

The night rolled on, with just a few people singing originals, some doing karaoke. Jisung came to the understanding that it was just supposed to be a fun place for all. While waiting for their order to arrive, they chat among themselves, though Jisung does more answering than asking. Chan said nothing more than a few sentences, but it didn't bother Jisung. 

The blonde-haired boy doesn't feel comfortable talking about several subjects, such as his unexplained attachment to a certain CB97, despite the podcast host being a public figure who should generally be an appropriate subject for regular conversation, since they feel like private secrets, only his to keep.

A few similarly dressed people, with a small cake in their hands, clustered around their table.

The younger caught Chan smiling at the owner. As he blew out the candles, he wished to never be alone. For every birthday celebration henceforth, please let me not be alone.

  
  


“I like you.” 

Jisung said it. Chan doesn’t know why he feels more affected by those words than he ever was by any declaration of love from either Changbin or Minho, but when Jisung had said it, everything inside of him jolted. His heart soared, and, he realized, he had been seconds away from surging forward and kissing the life out of the poor boy. He smiles into the darkness, as he thinks of how shocked Jisung would have been if he had given in, and then he sighs contentedly, just thinking about how much he likes him too. 

When the emcee of the event asked whether anyone else from the audience wanted to try their shot at the open-mic, the green pic burned holes in Jisung’s pocket. He stood up, startling Chan, “M-Me…”

_**What?** _

  
  
  


Jisung glanced at the older before replying with more confidence, “I would like to sing.” The shorter’s heart pounded, hands started to get clammy as he made his way towards the stage.

  
  


His eyes dart around furiously, heart palpitating, until he catches Chan’s gaze.

They lock eyes.

They lock eyes, and Jisung’s world falls away. In the flickering lights of the pub, Chan’s smoky quartz gaze burns into his, glimmering with an emotion Jisung can’t fathom, and the space between his eyebrows are creased with concern. Acoustic in one hand, green pic in the other, Jisung sat on the chair placing the mic closer to his lips and started humming. 

  
  


> **Just by looking at you**
> 
> **I smile without even knowing**
> 
> **When I see myself like that**
> 
> **It’s so amazing**
> 
> **As each day passes**
> 
> **My feelings for you**
> 
> **Grow deeper**
> 
> **This song right now**
> 
> **Might seem like**
> 
> **Just another love song**
> 
> **Yeah I know**
> 
> **But still**

Jisung's eyes never leave Chan’s. His heart is still racing, but he’s not quite sure why. He continues to play the guitar, but in the haze of Jisungs mind, the other people present there get blurred, and all he finds is—

  
  
  


_ Chan. _

  
  
  


Jisung’s rib cage threatens to give out. He pins the blame on the speakers playing for making him feel this way.

> **I wanna sing**
> 
> **About my feelings right now**
> 
> **So baby, listen**
> 
> **I’ll sing for you**
> 
> **Every moment I breathe**
> 
> **Under the same sky, with you**
> 
> **Like and love**
> 
> **Aren’t enough**
> 
> **To express this beautiful feeling**
> 
> **It’s beautiful**
> 
> **It’s beautiful**
> 
> **This beautiful feeling**

Chan rose from his seat, as Jisung walked back after his performance, the soft applause disappearing from his earshot. The older threw his arms around him and……..hugged him. 

It was what Jisung would have expected a hug from Chan to feel like, if he’d ever thought such a thing were possible. He almost fell over from the impact, thankful he had a strong grip around the borrowed acoustic. His arms were closely pinned to his sides and there remained a prevalent sensation of his ribs breaking in half. But mostly, the comfort of the older’s embrace and the smell of sweet apples and buttery caramel let him float.

The blonde boy was so surprised that all he could say was, “Ouch..”

Chan let go, and put his hands on the shorter’s shoulders. Then he just looked at him for a second, his brown eyes shifting back and forth, hair a little messy purple and pink. His cheeks were flushed. “Let’s get out of here…” Chan says simply and Jisung complies.

As they walk home, and even as they sit in the bus together, Jisung wants to ask. Questions hanging in the air. _Unanswered._

Chan grabbed the younger’s left hand with his palm and placed it parallel to his and interlocked their fingers. Jisung’s hands were gentle and warm, the older smiled affectionately. 

The purple streaked hair of the taller man was even more ruffled once they reached their apartment, and as Chan bid goodbye to Jisung in front of his doorstep, the younger truly didn’t want this night to end.

Clicking his door shut, Jisung wrinkles his nose adorably and leans against the wooden surface, fondness coursing through him. There is something about Chan that tugs at the back of Jisung's mind while he gets ready for bed, but he chooses not to indulge any such thoughts, at least for tonight.

Today was a fairytale, not the kind you might find in children's stories, but one of his own. And that helps him sleep, for once Jisung realized it was Chan who had helped him fall asleep. 

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

“Hey you what’s up?, this is CB97, Christopher to my mother, Chris to most of my friends, and welcome to Your Daily Insomniac’s late-night podcast and today as per usual we will be having some fun sessions, so stay tuned for more from me, until the sun rises.”

_4 am_ , Jisung notes from his bedside digital clock. Settling back under his duvet, he plugs in his earphones, and as soon as he does, CB97’s voice fills his ears once more.

  
  


“I’d like to dedicate songs again tonight.”

  
  


Jisung’s spine goes rigid, and he lays very, very still on his bed. _It can’t be, right?_

“This one goes out to one of the few stories I enjoyed during the last show. Here’s to you H.J,” CB97 murmurs, and Jisung is positive his lungs have stopped taking in air. “Thanks for the dedication last time, by the way.” 

Jisung’s breath hitches, and all sound in his ears screech to a stop. No way. 

Flailing wildly, Jisung yeets his earphones off, smashes his face into his pillow, and screeches.

Exhilarated and stunned as he may be, Jisung is surprised to feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes. He blinks them away, and they land on his pillowcase.

The soft, opening notes of a new song start to play:

> **"It is if everyone dies alone"**
> 
> **"Does that scare you?"**
> 
> **"I don't want to be alone"**
> 
> **I look for you**
> 
> **Every day**
> 
> **Every night**
> 
> **I close my eyes**
> 
> **From the fear**
> 
> **From the light**
> 
> **As I wander down the avenue so confused**
> 
> **Guess I'll try and force a smile**
> 
> **Pink lemonade sipping on a Sunday**
> 
> **Couples holding hands on a runway**
> 
> **They're all posing in a picture frame whilst my world's crashing down**
> 
> **Solo shadow on a sidewalk**
> 
> **Just want somebody to die for**
> 
> **Sunshine living on a perfect day while my world's crashing down**
> 
> **I just want somebody to die for**

It’s weird. CB97 is nothing but a total stranger, but he feels like a long-lost friend. It’s like he just knows, silent as a sigh, not a need for words, exactly what Jisung needs.

_ I long for you...Just a touch (does that scare you?) _ , Jisung muses with childlike wonder, I don’t want to be alone either. 

> **You don't leave my mind**
> 
> **Lonely days I'm feeling**
> 
> **Like a fool for dreaming**

The song goes on like that, soft and gentle as a lullaby to Jisung’s racing heart. He’d like to text CB97 again—to thank him; let him know he was heard and his words were received with a full, open heart—but Jisung’s eyelids start to droop and he finally dozes off.

Jisung slowly and reluctantly uncovers his face. Hitting the snooze button on his alarm, the boy blinks, closing his eyes, and blinks again. Streaks of sunlight penetrate the window and blind him. He decides to sit up, drag his feet off the bed, rubbing his knuckles onto his eyes, unable to believe he managed to sleep okay and wake up on time. 

“Wait today is the weekend...why am I awake now?” The blonde-haired boy laughed timidly.

Jisung stretched his arms above his head, a yawn catching his lips when the doorbell rang. Huh?

He looked through the peephole to see Felix standing there with a plastic bag in his hands, Oh no…

  
  


The boy swung the door open and said, “Felix, It’s okay...I understand. I will check on Chan.”

Felix looked taken aback, and burst out laughing, the kind that resonates through your entire body. He held his stomach, keeping the bag down onto the floor, unrestrained sunshine radiating through the shorter. Jisung was so confused but he waited patiently for the platinum-blonde haired boy to tell him why exactly this was funny.

“Sung, I...I-I just came to call you to have breakfast with us,” the boy chuckled lightly, while wiping invisible tears from his eyes, turning heels and already making his way upstairs. “Ohhh...I will be right there then, just...just let me freshen up,” 

Felix nodded shortly before disappearing, swinging the white plastic in his hands. With that the taller shut the door behind him, cheeks puffed out in embarrassment. **_Desperate much?_**

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧


	8. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Mentioned :  
> \- A lifetime waiting for you OST from Bloody Romance

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

After breakfast Jisung had plopped onto Chan’s bed, comfortably reading a webtoon, mindlessly hugging the elders pillows, just because they smelled like him. Chan walked in, surprised but lowered himself to Jisungs eye-level; the younger still unaware of the purple-haired man’s presence. “Ahem...”

Jisung looked up, eyes boring into lidded brown ones, “FUXCKVS…” the younger moved away quickly, pillow clutched close to his chest, eyes shutting close.

“Sung...It’s just me,” a honeyed voice sounded out, the younger peaked from behind the pillow, “Chan? That scared the living daylights out off me…” worried laughter filled the walls of the older’s room. 

“Come...I want to show you something,” Chan reached to hold Jisung’s hand and gently pulled him into another connected room, that the blonde-haired boy had not noticed when he entered prior. 

It’s a low-lit room due to the big window on one wall, with dim orange light bulbs hanging from the ceiling to imitate the old retro style of music stores. Aisles of albums and vinyls lay stacked on one shelf below which were rows of books. While black vintage record CDs are smattered across an alcove by the right side. There’s a grand piano lined along the far left wall, and when Chan moves towards it, Jisung sits by the smallest bean bag, made of pure black leather. The ivory keys gleam up at him, and his heart starts a timpani beat when Chan pats the space between him to sit instead, just a hairsbreadth of space between their hips. “Try it,” the older man says encouragingly.

He closes his eyes and presses on the first combination of notes, light, hesitant fingers hovering over the piano keys. When he makes a mistake, one finger sinking against the wrong key, Jisung gasps when a hand folds over his. 

The boy's mouth goes dry.

_ Be still, dear heart.  _

Chan's other hand comes up to cover both of Jisung's, and he manoeuvres them swiftly down the piano keys with patience, careful movements. The air is filled with unchained melodies, pleasant and sweet as a breath.

Jisung turns to Chan with an enthusiastic smile after the last note passes into void. "Haha, how was that? I did it."

"It was pretty and...yes," Chan affirms, his eyes tender and supportive. "You did."

"Play something for me now," asks Jisung, eyes begging. With Chan, it's so easy—so easy to get lost quickly.

Chan's lips curve up. “Any song requests, sweetie? ”

Jisung hums, before sharing shyly. “A lifetime waiting for you, It’s an OST. From Bloody Romance. Have you heard that one?”

Chan nods and turns back to the piano keys, raising both arms. “It’s been a while, so no promises okay?”

Songs are magic. There’s something about the way the notes drape the air around them with something heavy but gentle and calm at the same time. A beautiful sound, one Jisung longed to hear, flooded the room. This noise was the sound of icicles and little sleigh bells mixed into one impacting combination. He felt the sadness of the music seep into his body slowly and spread throughout his veins. 

> **I will take a pen and paper out and write**
> 
> **A letter which is full of loving words of you.**
> 
> **Flowers bloom for ten miles and**
> 
> **Flower petals fly because of you.**
> 
> **While playing a piece of music**
> 
> **With zither**

The boy sings gently, words spilling out of his lips like liquid gold and Chan can’t help but melt. There is something in Jisung’s spirit that dances when the older continues to play the notes, like a fire giving just the right amount of warmth. 

> **I feel that life seems to have stopped**
> 
> **Next to you…**
> 
> **When the rain soaks the ground,**
> 
> **I am foolishly waiting for you.**
> 
> **Using this meeting of a lifetime,**
> 
> **A hope,**
> 
> **A chance to exchange for a life with**
> 
> **You by my side…**
> 
> **I can give anything to have you**
> 
> **Next to me.**

When the tinkle of the piano fades, Jisung opens his eyes to find Chan already staring at him, eyes dancing with witch light wonder.

Like he’s the first and last person he’ll ever play for.

It is quiet, but the air is humming with friction between them. Jisung raises the piano keys from his fingertips and brushes the strands of hair that fall onto the gap between Chan's eyebrows, away. Those damned purple-pink strands that never seem to remain in place. The older eyes fluttered close at his touch.

He looked like a miracle under the fading afternoon sun. Jisung's very own miracle. 

Voice barely above a whisper, Jisung murmurs the last line, ' _When the rain soaks the ground...I am foolishly waiting for you_.'

The world could wait. He knew that. Sometime before, he had given his heart into the palms of the other's. He had no idea when. Or where. Or how it happened. But it did.

And it'll remain there, safe and sound. 

  
  


So, Jisung chose to close the gap between them. 

  
  


To steal Chan’s lips.

Knowing he would be safe and sound too. 

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

For Muses Bookshop is chic and homely. One wall accented in bookshelves, and the floor space is filled with an assortment of chairs ranging from the squishiest armchairs to wooden ladder backs. Since his first year of undergraduate studies, Chan worked hard to build ‘For Muses’ from the ground up - and now he was embarking on expanding the store to different regions.

The coffee shop had somehow become as much a part of the store as his experience, and that little spot by the park that he likes - under a tree, but in the sun, and shielded from the view of passers-by.

Chan knows everyone who is a semi-regular customer, and was respected for his warm greetings and thorough knowledge of the books that filled the shelves.

So when Chan looked up from the till on hearing a, “Um, hello?” he was confused because the stranger wasn’t there for the books or the coffee. 

“May I help you?”

“Eh, um, I’m here to deliver this parcel to,” the stranger paused to look at the name stated on the package, “Bang Chan.” His voice was clear and crisp, but warm and kind, and just a little deep. 

Realising the shorter still hasn’t started his purpose, Chan quickly opened his mouth to speak.

“Ah, that’s me. Thank you very much.”

Chan stretched out his hands and lifted the brown wrapped box gingerly from the stranger's hands, smiling at him kindly.

"Is there... is there anything else I have to do? Asked Chan, blinking in surprise at the lack of words or movement from the stranger. His light brown hair was shiny and a little long, almost covering his right eye with his side-bangs.

The boy panicked, quickly passing him a paper to sign, collected it back then rapidly fleeing the scene with a curt “thank you”, hoping with all his might that his stare wasn’t noticed.

_ That was...weird. _

Chan walks over to behind the counter, ripping open the package gently, already aware of its contents as he takes a seat behind a computer screen. “How...was I supposed to make this again?”

The boy gets busy, fiddling away with what looks like a ball, and other knick-knacks, eyes refusing to move away anywhere but from the screen and the model in front of him. 

The sound of an old fashioned mobile phone went off like an annoyed rattlesnake. He scooped it up, “I am busy!” Chan calls into the antique gadget clenched between his right shoulder and ear. Hands overloaded—from the little pieces of the model in between each finger, more clutched in each hand. He’s close—so close—to finishing the gift for Jisung, and he’s at his wits end with dodging other shoppers, standing in massive queues, and Wham. DIY. 

“Great to talk to you too, best friend,” Minho says sarcastically. “Good time for a catch-up?” he adds, because getting Chan going is the easiest thing in the world.

“Only if you have advice about sticking things,” Chan informs Minho. He’s looking down at a range of stones, sand and shells in materials trying to determine which one goes when and where. There will be no second best for Jisung—Chan is determined to give them the perfect present for the reveal. It will be dazzling. It will be meaningful. It will be perfectly suited to Jisung—something that conveys how special they are and how much Chan knows it. The blonde-haired boy won’t know what hit them when they unwrap it. 

“I am pleased to report that despite Changbin’s best efforts, I never learned any form of craft.” Chan can hear Minho’s smug beam through the phone. “Why do you need to know about glue or sticking, anyway?”

“I am going to—or well trying to make a water globe? For Jisung—the perfect water globe/ snow globe ball thingy.”

“Oh no...,” Minho interrupts.

“Please do not give me a lecture on how I cannot do arts and crafts on my own right now. I need to finish all this, and, more importantly, I just do not care.”

“I wasn’t ‘Oh noing’ your ridiculous claim,” Minho parries. “I was noping your idea.”

“Oh shut up. You are just saying that because all you got Changbin for your first month anniversary then, was chocolate,” Chan accuses.

“I didn’t!” Minho insists, as though his reputation is on the line. “Chocolates were in!!! Besides he told me he was craving some, okay?”

“Do you think this is enough though??” the older demands, aggrieved and now staring daggers at the assembled shards as though they demolished his best-laid plans. An older customer reading nearby chuckles and another, elbow-deep in the thick bound book, calls out a quiet “I hear you.”

Minho laughs uproariously on the other end of the line. “What do you mean enough?”

“You know what I mean,” the purple-haired man says, because it is perfectly normal to want to give the most thoughtful, personalised gift when you claim your feelings for someone. 

“Riiiiight,” says Minho, “because, as we all know, you haven’t already made enough gifts”

“I am not in the mood to banter! Unless you have any genius gift ideas, I am hanging up.”

“You love bantering with me!” Minho counters. He’s not wrong: it took a couple of years for the two of them to find their zone, but Changbin’s overbearing attempts to transform them both into his ideals of boyfriendhood was a powerful bonding force. In the shit together, they quickly learned to appreciate one another’s ass-kicking and name taking, and began sparring with a spirit of joy and mutual-appreciation. It’s been a relief to Chan that his and Felix’s moving out did not ruin his relationship with Minho. What with their parents being best friends and all.

“Honestly, it’ll be fine!” Minho backpedals. “Are you planning on the water globe thing only or? Jisung will love that! Some Big Ocean Energy. Although, can you even make it properly?”

“No. I was watching some YouTube videos. How hard can it be? The lady downtown churns out about three dozen per month .”

“Seems pretty ambitious,” Minho’s voice is sceptical. “Maybe start with I don’t know...a mixtape?” Chan grunts through the receiver, clearly not appreciating anything the younger was suggesting.

Minho sighs. “Sorry I mentioned it. What’s your back up plan?”

“I do not have one!” Chan exclaims, winding his way out of the book shop slowly and carefully to avoid knocking anyone coming over. “This is a nightmare!”

“Dating, man,” Minho commiserates.

Chan scoffs. “We are not sixteen. AND We are not dating. Yet”

“Still though,” 

“Yes, still.” Chan lets a heavy breath out through his nose. “Any ideas?” he asks.

“You know Jisung likes music Chan,” the boy offers. “Or, at least, they like sleeping to it, with how much you go off talking about them.”

Chan smiles. “Maybe a mixtape wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.”

“I’m a good source of spectacular ideas,” Minho agrees. “A natural leader. A humble best friend who is always there for—"

  
  


“Nevermind,” Chan says, entering the shop once again, noticing people wanting something, with the tinkle of a bell, the soles of his black Air Force 1’s striking the pavement with a purpose. “I can think of something. I will think of something—the perfect something. I am incredibly romantic!”

“Um...”

  
  


“I am!” Chan insists. “Says the person who barely says anything to them…”

“Listen……” a pang hitting the older’s heart. 

Minho sighs again, “I know Channie...I know” apologetic but understanding all the same.

Childhood was tough for the brothers, home wasn’t home and neither was school. A constant juggle between living and dying, where nowhere felt safe. The tears tasted brackish to his lips, with a significant tint of bitterness in them: bitterness that he felt and directed at the others for putting him in such a miserable and pitiful condition as he was in those days; Or always, for that matter. Tears blinded his eyes as a new surge of emotion swept him. Keeping quiet. A way his brain just adapted to the pain. The way he had learnt to adjust to his new surroundings in the alien, hostile country, and had learnt to accept the countless jeers and merciless teasing and bullying from people around him. But it got better after leaving. Leaving home and the past, but the silence. That followed.

“Dude, just get them some chocolate. Changbin loved it...” Minho continues, breaking the older’s thoughts.

“Goodbye, Minho.” Chan ends the call. He has hung onto his 2007 flip phone for moments like these—the satisfying snap that rings out merrily when he shuts down nonsense.

The phone buzzes again as Chan was trying to understand the video. He uses his chin to flip it open.

  
  


“Manners!” Minho scolds. “I did call for a reason, you know.”

  
  
  


“Well?” Chan whisper-yells, to not disturb the rest of the readers in the store.

“Changbin is on his way, he’ll help you out with the gift for Jisung okay?”

The man finally smiles a little, “Thanks Min”

Changbin strutted in a few minutes later wearing all black- skinny jeans ripped at the knee, and ankle boots with heels, enough to make him as tall as Chan, just. There’s an obvious commitment to an aesthetic that makes Chan weak at the knees. Changbin was his other best friend, and _extremely attractive_. 

“Espresso. Triple shot,” Changbin requests, placing his black keep cup on the counter and giggles, snapping Chan out of his reverie. “Hello to you too,” the older says, scribbling the order on a scrap of paper and handing it and the coffee cup to Sana, the orange-haired barista. She rings up the coffee on the till. “That’s 4900 won, please.” Chan smiles, dimples and all.

“So, this gift thing…”

“Mmm-hmm, it has to be the best bin—,”

“—Chan, you do realise your present won’t be judged by a panel, yes?” Changbin interrupted, and the older could only shoot him a furious glare. It was not enough to stop that frown of his. “You really don’t have to be perfect at this, I’m not sure it’s even possible.” As if he needed a pity lecture from his best friend about the nature of perfection and gifts.

“Jisung is perfect,” Chan said, turning to stare intensely at the desk behind him so the younger wouldn’t see him turn slightly red. “He deserves perfection. And I’m not. That is the only reason it is taking me so long to find him a gift.” Chan had considered making the boy a mixtape after listening to Minho, but whenever he had sat down to work on it all flaws in his work had been glaringly obvious. The purple-haired boy could not give Jisung a flawed present made with his own hands. “Let’s go shopping then... I’m sure we can find something perf—”

“Absolutely not!” Chan had never sounded so scandalized.

“Just yesterday I told you that I went searching and ended up finding nothing” the boy snapped. 

“Channie...Listen to me, Let’s search I have an idea” Changbin coos again, drawing away from him. 

“O-okay, but what about the shop? I can’t go shopping right now without someone taking over.” he shuddered reflexively. “But I need to buy Jisung a present TODAY and it needs to be as perfect as he is.”

“I can,” Sana chimes in, “...there aren’t many people in here today Chan, it’ll be alright. Just go get the gift yeah?”

Sana, one of the few people in Chan’s life he got accustomed to, talking that is. When Chan decided to open up a bookstore initially, it was super hard for him. How can I start a business and talk to people when...I can’t talk to people?

Thinking back it was super tough for Chan, but he had to get over it a little by little. And he really wanted to try that for Jisung too. To talk to the younger. To let him listen to the older’s voice. To be able to communicate. 

He wanted to be just as perfect as he was for him.

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

The two stood in front of an antique store, Changbin looking at the neon signs that also had the price. “This place is it!” 

The shop filled with antique items ranging below 500k won and while Chan had no problem dropping that much money on Jisung, he knew that he probably shouldn't. He didn't want nor need to drop thousands of dollars on gifts for the little guy to show how much he loved him, but he definitely would buy him a bunch of smaller gifts he'd love. “Binnie...I don’t think I am in any position to splurge right now...So what is the real reason for us to come here?”

Changbin laughed, “That is true.”

“But don’t worry, there is something I want you to see here,” the blue-grey haired boy replied before entering the shop. The two moved along the aisle, eyes scanning the rows of teapots and Russian dolls, all of them covered in a fine layer of dust. 

"What about..." Changbin's voice trailed off as he reached out to grab a small CD player. It wasn't as sophisticated as the stereo system that was set up in Chan's living room, but it was a pretty neat version of a handheld player, wireless too. 

Chan stepped closer, probably a little too close if it were anyone else but Changbin, and skimmed over the back information and pictures on the box that encased the device. 

"He'd probably like this. I guess this means I have to compile songs and make it personalised like Minho said huh?" the older murmured the last sentence more to himself. 

"Awesome. I'll get this then..." Chan tucked the box under his arm. "So, I think two gifts for Jisung is enough for today."

Changbin nearly choked on his tongue.

"'Two gifts is enough for ‘today’?"

Chan simply nodded. "Yeah. I mean, You know how much I like making and giving gifts already decided some things throughout the year for him so I think two is a good starting number."

Changbin chuckled, “Channie...I think you have to first, I don’t know—”, the boy scratched the back of his neck, “—confess first?”

The older giggled slightly, “I will...with this”, as the two moved towards the checkout. Two cashiers were working the registers and both had quite a few people waiting in line. The two men looked at each other before Changbin gestured to one line with his head.

"You take that one. I'll take this one." 

The purple-haired boy backed up until he reached the end of the line with Changbin got into the other one. Then it was like a silent race. One line would move forward, then the other. Each time, the men would look at each other, a playful smirk or narrowed eyes on their faces. Somehow, they both ended up being next at the same time. 

Like the true overgrown child he was, Chan turned and stuck his tongue out at Changbin before greeting the cashier with his signature smile. With a smile of his own, Changbin shook his head and turned towards the woman behind the cash register who was wearing a knowing smile as her co-worker.

"You two are too cute," the cashier said with a laugh. 

"Me and him?" Chan asked, hooking a thumb over his shoulder as he placed the item he had onto the conveyor belt.

"Yes," she said, eyes twinkling with amusement. "I was watching your little line race. It was adorable."

Chan's cheeks and tips of his ears were tinged with red. “Oh..we..w-we aren’t you know?”

The blue-grey haired boy next to him just smirked.

"Oh...I am sorry! Have a great day," the cashier said, handing Changbin the device-filled plastic bag and his receipt.

"You too."

"Ready to go?" Chan asked, standing as he tucked his phone into his back pocket.

"Yeah, you owe me lunch."

  
  


Chan laughed. It was always so _easy_ with Changbin. 

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧


	9. Hey you...

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

Chan stared back unblinkingly, frozen, mouth parted in shock. Or was it awe? “You—“

“I’m sorry?” too tongue-tied to say more, Jisung opted for the easy way out— “I mean…”

“I like you too…” voice low, innocent and sincere, Chan couldn’t look at the younger but added hesitantly, “I have liked you..actually...for a while now,”

Gone were the thoughts of CB97, gone were the feelings that voice invoked in him. 

Jisung just saw _Chan_. 

  
  


The blonde-haired boy found his face, and the older’s mouth was already waiting like a question. It was perfect—Chan’s soft lips against the bite of the americanos and sugary juice still on our tongues. He did more than just not stop Jisung. He kissed him back.

The simple part was falling in love with you; it's admitting to myself that was difficult. Were we ever strangers? I'm not sure, we ever were. Even the day I saw you for the first time, there was something, but I didn't know what. I wonder if there is a time factor that makes it possible for us to experience a deep love, like an amber light that bursts over a dim horizon.

Chan wrapped his arms around the younger bringing him out of his thoughts, “I have work tonight, so how about we go out say—tomorrow? It’s still your day off isn’t it…”

Jisung still wasn’t used to hearing Chan talk to him like that, it made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He just smiles. “Great!,” dimples deepening, “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow alright?” Chan says while kissing the blonde boy on the forehead, it’s quick and barely there, but it’s enough to make Jisung’s heart race. 

“Chan...wait,” the shorter tugs his arms, “I’ve always wondered about you.”

Chan blinks. “Me?”

Jisung nods. “Felix once told me that you do live streams but like he never said anything more than that...I always figured you did gaming vids since...well for one the equipment in your room and—,” Chan leans forward on his forearms, listening attentively, “—how competitive you get during our game nights.”

  
  


Chan smirks slightly and all. Gotta fake the confidence even though he’s highly screaming on the inside. “Hmmm. You wouldn’t believe me.”

  
  


Jisung shoots him a pointed look. “Hit me with your best shot.”

  
  


“Well, what if I told you,” Chan drawls suggestively, heart hammering in his chest, “—that I host a podcast by night under the pen-name CB97?”

  
  


Chan holds his breath and keeps both eyes trained on Jisung’s face intently, waiting for that moment where everything clicks and falls in place. He expected something along the lines of :

  * Jisung getting shocked 
  * Chan agreeing smugly and saying, “yeah it was me” and I figured your story *wink wonk*
  * They hug and kiss
  * Lived happily ever after
  * Roll credits



But instead, Jisung bursts out in peals of laughter. He clutches his stomach as he bends over while Chan sits there, still as a statue, mortified and a little flabbergasted because— what the fuck?

“You’re right,” Jisung says between gasps, wiping a tear away. “I don’t believe you. Oh, that’s really funny.”

Felix walks in hearing all the commotion, “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, nothing, just your brother saying the most absurd things,” the younger laughs.

The platinum-haired boy clucks his tongue and shakes his head ruefully, “like?”, already leaning against the wall of the room, intent on knowing what was so amusing that Jisung was laughing his pants off (not literally please).

“Well Channie Hyung just told me...t-told me that he’s the podcast host of a late-night show,” the blonde boy giggles, “the next thing he will say is that the podcast is named ‘Your Daily Insomniac’,” Jisung sighs. 

“I don’t work my ass off just to like—“

Felix’s eyes widened. “Sungie…”

  
  


Jisung’s laugh fades, and he gulps visibly. He doesn’t know why, but a small part of him is afraid. Chan had gone very silent through all of this.

  
  


“Hyung is telling the truth,”

  
  
  
  
  


Jisung’s face falls.

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

  
  


“Sung?” he asks, waving a hand in front of Jisung’s face.

“I...” Jisung all but croaks, unable to tear his eyes away from where Chan had been momentarily before slipping out of the room. “Lix, I... he—“

He’s expecting Jisung to be mad at him, or curious, but instead Jisung lowers his body to the floor and lies down, eyes closing.

“Um. What are you doing?” Seriously. Maybe he should be concerned now, because Jisung looks like his soul has disappeared from his body.

“I just.” Jisung rests his head on the cold tiled floor, flattening his cheeks against it. “Need to think. Gimme a second.”

All this time...It was Chan? My conflicted heart fumbled between two people. Two voices that were one. And it was Chan. All this time..? Thoughts spiralled and the only grounding was to lie down. And Felix understood that.

So he waits. The younger knew Jisung like the back of his hand by now, and so he counts down: Three...

Two.....

One............

Then Jisung screams.

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

As Jisung gathers himself, he goes searching for the older. Where is he?

  
  


“He...left,” 

  
  


Felix hands him the phone, and an umbrella, “It looks like it will rain, you know him best sung,” the platinum-blonde boy smiles, eyes crinkling at the sides, “Go get him.”

  
  


Jisung ran, not really knowing where to. But he did. The small drops of water attacked his body as he ran across the street and towards the bus stop. The younger’s feet sprinting to the only person he could call home, his mind unable to clock what they’re doing, and the wind rushes by and pushes his hoodie back from his hair. He can’t wait. 

The universe couldn't wait any longer. He takes his phone out of his pocket and swipes it open to call the older when his phone starts vibrating, and Jisung’s eyes grow huge, breath hitching. The caller ID reflected the letters of a name he has on his mind. The line on the other end is noisy, and briefly, he wonders where Chan could be. The downpour was so heavy, the umbrella in Jisung's hands remained unopened. Finally, as a car whizzes past, the blonde boy looks up towards the bus stand.

And... there he was.

Jisung, stood on the other side, phone pressed against an ear, and he gazes at Chan as though he couldn't believe his luck. As if Chan is indeed a hidden magical being who could disappear if he was to blink, and he's only now—

  
  


Only now seeing it all.

  
  
  


Jisung whispers into his phone, silent to the rest of the world but loud against Chan’s ear, “It’s you. Isn’t it?”

In the wake of the weather, the world goes still and quiet. The rain has become a living fabric, something the younger can reach his hand through and let his fingers play in. Stray leaves dance in the air. His heart swells and lifts, and he lets out the softest huff of relief, never once breaking their gaze. Chan opens his mouth but can’t bring himself to speak. Where would he start?

Jisung repeats, “It is you. Right……….?”, voice quavering, still unsure. 

In the changing candlewick hue of sunrise, it almost looks like there are drops of stardust in Jisung’s hair. Moon shining in his eyes.

Then Chan is smiling, eyes crinkling soft and tender, when he answers into the phone:

“Hey you.”

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧


	10. Epilogue

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

Shyness and hesitation held him back. Now that he’s aware—now that the two people he’s been falling for happens to be one and the same—Jisung doesn’t quite know how to act. Maybe he needs some air. Maybe he needs distance.

So instead, he tells Chan, "Excuse me for a moment," with his phone still pressed to one ear,

"I'm sorry I left that way," Chan cuts him off in a hurry, words pouring out. "Please..."

Jisung's eyes bolt upward, meeting Chan’s searching gaze. "Huh?”

"You must be upset with me. For rushing out like that. For not having told you earlier. I understand, if you are, so let me apologize—"

“Shut up...” This time, a teardrop escapes the corner of Jisung’s left eye.

  
  


A pause. “Sung...”

  
  
  


Across the road, through the soft lavender clouds in the lightening sky, the first rays of orange blossom to paint Chan’s silhouette in undulating ripples of light. Jisung’s heart swoops and skips, and his feet finally find the will to move forward. The rain had subdued about now, the youngers blonde hair looked like that of wet sunflowers in a golden field. Chan’s heart raced. He reminds me of art. 

“Don’t apologize to me,” he snaps before dropping the call.

And then he's half-running from across street, and to his surprise, Chan, too, rushes forward and meets him half-way, so they're almost in the middle of the road, deserted, it’s just them now. Chan's hair was almost blonde, the purples and pinks remaining as streaks only, brushing along with the wind over his eyes, and Jisung slowly reaches out to push them aside, damn these strands; wanting to look, needing to see him.

Chan’s pupils dilate at his touch, but before Jisung can pull his hand away, he grabs his wrist in a gentle hold. His fingers are warm, and Jisung gasps softly when Chan presses a featherlight kiss to the ridges of his knuckles, eyes closed.

  
  
  


“Thank you,” he murmurs in a low rasp.

  
  


There’s so much more meaning in those two words than a simple show of gratitude, and Jisung understands that.

  
  


Thank you for searching for me.

  
  


_ For choosing me. _

  
  


_ For believing in me.  _

Tears gathering in his eyes, Jisung shakes his head and murmurs, “No. Chan, thank you.”

  
  


_ For saving me when I needed it the most. _

He's pictured, no, daydreamed over and over about this situation, a thousand times before in his mind. What he'd do, the things that he'd say, if he met CB97. Or if he would ever garner the guts sometime in the future to confess to his nocturnal neighbour. He had beautiful lines from lyrics he heard sitting on his lips, but everything just dissipated into dust at that moment. Words weren't enough. All the letters of the alphabet put together too, couldn't contain those emotions.

  
  


Chan has no idea, Jisung thinks, just how much he is the calm to his chaos.

Later, Jisung will tell him of all those nights he spent as a dedicated ghost listener of CB97. Later, they’ll joke about it all.

  
  
  


There’s more than enough time for that.

  
  
  


Now, Jisung throws both arms around Chan and leans in to connect their lips.

Night falls through the sky. Their eyes flutter closed. Jisung curves his hands around the nape of Chan's neck as the sun sets above the horizon, their lips melting and weakening against each other. Chan, just as desperately, meets his lips. Gently, Chan pulls him closer by his waist, and he giggles into their kiss when Jisung stumbles on a pebble, grip still steady around the shorter. 

Chan breaks the connection with a relaxed breath to rest their foreheads against each other. Jisung can almost count the golden brown flecks dotting the irises of Chan from up close—his eyes are an entire fucking row of celestial objects.

“What’s that in your hand?”, the younger asks while looking at a pretty baby blue gift bag, now splotched here and there with dark blue stains. The purple-haired man gasps, “SHIT!,” incoherent words leaving his lips as he tries frantically to wipe dry the bag, “Okay, thank god nothing happened to it.”

  
  


Jisung furrowed his brows, “What’s in it?” curious about the sky toned cover.

Chan smiled nervously, hands scratching the back of his neck, as he handed the younger the bag, “It’s for you…”

The blonde boy grins, “For me??”, he carefully opens the bag, a pretty wrapped box, oddly shaped with a differently coloured bow. Mismatched all together, but precious. Jisung slowly tore the tape that bound the edges of the paper, a small gadget came in display. “A CD player?” says the boy, tilting his head quizzically.

“Open it…”

Jisung presses against the tough button that says ‘open’, laid inside was a CD with the print of the two of them at the beach, and the words ‘Forever Yours’. Heart threatening to beat out of his chest, the shorter manages to lock eyes with Chan, “Open the other thing too, and then play it...if you’d like to?” 

  
“Okay,” Jisung sighed, pausing to wipe his nose on his sleeve. The wrapping was left over a small shape, spherical almost. With delicate fingers, and a beating heart the younger removed the pretty paper away from the figurine. A snow globe? No... 

It’s water. Jisung’s mouth slightly drops open, his skin tingled, a “Chan are these from—”

  
  


“—The beach? Yeah...It’s your own personal sea,” purple strands stuck to his forehead, a certain warmth emanated from the older. 

  
  


Feelings of happiness are often difficult to describe. Because like most things, that feeling doesn’t last for too long. But like the ocean in his hand right now, Jisung felt it again. The infectious happiness. It started as a tingle, much like the feeling he had nights without sleep, but instead of worrisome it's calm. The boy feels it pass through him like a wave, washing away the stress of his day. 

“I feel so…….happy,” the blonde-boy says, as he rattles the pretty shells in its glassed salty glory. The feeling is a blissful evocation of time spent with you, Chan. Jisung stood and let the happiness soak right into his bones. 

Chan’s voice is small, like he’s too afraid to speak lest he break something fragile. “Do you like it?” 

  
  


Jisung sighs, eyes fluttering close. “I love it,” he answers.

Chan reaches for Jisung’s hand and squeezes it. He mentally notes to thank Minho and Changbin.

  
  


“So...H.J, how did you like the reveal?” Chan’s grin widens. 

Annoyed by the nickname he had chosen to engage with the podcast host back then, Jisung gives a petulant cry and reaches out to pinch Chan’s arm.

A sharp inhale. “Ouch?!”

Jisung sticks out his tongue. Straightening up, Chan’s pained expression morphs back to a crooked smirk. “If this is reality, then can I just get kisses instead of hits, sweetheart.”

Jisung's brain whizzes through all the information present to him and his heart clenches. How could he have failed to note the resemblances sooner?

He breathes in, complete awe taking over his features, "I can't believe it," as they resume walking speed. "You're him. Why didn't you tell me earlier? ”

Chan gives him a dirty look. "I just told you."

"You know that's not what I meant..."

  
  


The older male sighs defeated, "You know...I couldn't get myself to talk. It's tough around people...and podcasts? well I grew up listening to them or—”

  
  


“—well slept listening to them. It only made sense to do that when I couldn't sleep either and..."

He went on a tangent again didn't he? Chan blushes.

  
  


Jisung stares, his eyes ever so soft, "I feel like a fool, Chan..."

  
  


He snickers, "I...Honestly sungie...when you sent in that letter, I wanted to tell you, but it felt so—"

  
  


"Uncanny? Unbelievable?" Jisung completes, "...yeah, I thought so too"

  
  


His own words caused another flush to crawl up Jisung's neck.

"Sorry," he murmurs darkly, lowering his lashes. Jisung smacks his head internally for being completely blind all along.

  
  


“How can I make it up to you?”

Jisung pretends to think, humming in thought. “Be my boyfriend...and maybe kiss me again.”

“If you want to, that is”

Heart racing, Chan stops walking and side-eyes him. Then, with an equally cheeky smile of his own, he answers, “Oh, I don’t know.” He folds his arms and strokes his chin to think. “Maybe if you take me out for dinner, I’ll think about it.”

  
  


Jisung’s eyes disappear as he laughs, drawing Chan into his arms once more for a hug that warms him to the tips of his toes. “If that’s all it takes, then say goodbye to your single life.”

The older laughs and Jisung once again is reminded of how much that sound resonates through every fibre of his being. He noticed again how it's the kind of laugh that transforms him into someone else entirely, the kind of laugh that puts stars in his eyes and a dazzle on his lips and he realizes that he's never seen someone like this before.

  
  


But he gets to now. More often,  _ now _ .

  
  


Chan does, however, nod a simple yes. Of course he wants to. He wanted it more than he thought so himself. 

The younger extends his hands out as they walk, to intertwine their pinkies, because all of this, Chan's dimples; the work overload from the past few weeks; the whole series of events leading up to the present, feels like a newly realized promise he wants to keep for himself.

The pair shuddered as they held hands, drenched from head to toe, making their way home. An unopened umbrella and a gift bag of memories. 

Later that night, as Jisung tucks himself under the duvet with the CD player beside him, he plugs on his earphones and tunes into his favourite podcast show,

“Hey you, welcome to ‘Your Daily Insomniac’ a late-night podcast and this is CB97, Christopher to my mother, Chris to most of my friends—” an awkward pause later the host continues, “—and Channie to the significant other I just found, staying up with you all night until the sun rises…” a soft giggle echoes in the wind. 

**_My Channie..._ **

Falling asleep to the sound of his boyfriend’s voice not because he needs to.

  
  


But because he can.

  
  


He’s lucky like that.

༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧༶•┈┈⛧

**Author's Note:**

> hellu~ 
> 
> finally after an eternity later i managed to finish a chaptered fic that was borderline good enough :') i really hope you like this... <3 i put in a lot of effort and usually for my aus i put disclaimers but yeah any or everything included in this fic is a work of imagination and my own ^^ the podcast intros and songs of course are inspired by others <3 so any resemblances are purely coincidental  
> i truly hope that we get more chansung fluff in ao3 and now i will go listen to sad songs and drown myself in angst :') 
> 
> let me know what you think in the comments hehe~


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